


A Divine Spark

by umbrafix



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Issues, Gen, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs a Hug, Lucifer is secretly where all the angels came from, lots of therapy, post season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrafix/pseuds/umbrafix
Summary: There have been no new angels created in the time since Lucifer was cast down from heaven. What if God wanted something different in the deal that Lucifer made with him? AU from S1 Ep13.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU from season one finale. I, uh, have no shame for this. Really. None. Also, in my little universe Lucifer was the first and oldest angel. Both because it seems more apt, and also for plot. 
> 
> Some events will echo season 2, mostly accidentally, some won't. There are no deliberate S2 spoilers, and I don't use any characters that aren't in S1. I haven't seen 3, so no idea what's going on there!
> 
> And no, it's not an mpreg fic. Or well, not really *squints*

“ _I don't know if this is all part of a plan. Or if you can even hear me. But if you're up there, Dad, I need a favour. I'll be the son you always wanted me to be, I'll do as you ask, go where you want me to. In exchange, all I ask... is that you protect Chloe.”_

 

There was a moment's stillness, a blankness in which the human world phased out and there was nothing to replace it.

 

Stillness.

 

Nothing.

 

Then light, so brilliant and blinding that Lucifer shut his eyes and brought up his hand to ward it off but it made no difference.

 

Light, and the faintest resonant hum.

 

His hand lowered but his eyes stayed closed for a long moment, afraid to look. When he opened them, the Silver City stretched before him, laid out below in graceful curving patterns designed to delight the eye. Chimes rang softly and beams of light glittered off a thousand reflective surfaces.

 

Home.

 

Lucifer instantly rejected the thought, this had never been home, not really. Still, as he turned in a slow circle and surveyed the high courtyard he found himself in, he found he remembered every detail as if it were only yesterday he had been here.

 

Nothing had changed. Not in all these centuries.

 

“Need a new dungeon installed?”

 

Silence.

 

“Leather sofas? I know a great interior decorator.”

 

His words fell harshly into the empty air, but after a moment there was a blurry flicker at the corner of his vision and he whirled around.

 

“Dad?”

 

He thought for a moment he'd been mistaken, that there was nothing there, but a few seconds later it came again, a gleam of light growing stronger. Not his father though. He frowned and took two steps closer.

 

“What...?”

 

The space around him seemed to warp and blur for a moment, and then the mote of light snapped into focus in front of him, shining brilliantly now, almost incandescent. He winced and squinted sideways at it, and then took an alarmed half-step back as it floated towards him.

 

“That can't be-”

 

And then there was Presence, surrounding him utterly, and oh Dad, he'd forgotten what it felt like to have his bloody father in the same atmosphere, overwhelming and all encompassing.

 

The small ball of light advanced a final few inches, and merged into his chest. He gasped, “That's impossible,” hands clenching into fists as light streamed through his veins.

 

Impossible.

 

\--------------------------------

 

 

Lucifer's eyes sprang open, breath choking on an inhale which tried to draw a planet's worth of oxygen in, and he bolted upright with denial still on his lips.

 

The hanger.

 

Chloe.

 

His fear for her beat just as strongly as it had before he'd died, so he shoved all knowledge of what he'd just seen down to the bottom of his little black heart and pulled himself to his feet.

 

He had a soul to send back to hell.

 

Stopping Malcolm - watching three red bullet holes blossom across the maggot's chest - was infinitely satisfying. Several puns immediately sprung to mind about cleaning up Amenadiel's messes, which Lucifer would have to deliver at the earliest opportunity.

 

He stared down at the corpse for a minute, distantly hearing the detective calling for her offspring.

 

“What price we pay,” he murmured, then went to stand awkwardly off to one side as the other two embraced.

 

“Excuse me if I don't join the group hug.”

 

The detective stared at him, visibly shaken. “I thought he killed you.”

 

“He did, yes.” Lucifer paused, glancing down at the child. “I got better.”

 

“You promised you'd let me go alone.”

 

And really, _this_ was what she was going to get hung up on? Actually that shouldn't have been surprising. He smiled, but the expression felt wrong on his face. “True, but I didn't say anything about following.”

 

She was still looking at him – closely, too closely. “What's wrong?”

 

He didn't know how to answer, didn't _know_ the answer. “Isn't it past her bed time?”

 

Chloe looked down, and he could trace her thought process of ' _Oh thank Dad, the spawn's alive_ ' all over again. “Yeah, I just-” and there was a hitch in her voice which he rather uncomfortably thought might be a run up to crying, which he most definitely was not in the mood to handle right now.

 

“I'll just be off then!” he said hastily, and he was already two steps away and turning before she could raised betrayed eyes to stare at his retreating back.

 

\--------------------

 

The trip back to Lux passed in a succession of snapshots. Leaning against the door of his car for a moment, feeling almost too numb to keep moving. Drumming his fingers against the wheel as the wind streamed through his wide-open car window. The ding of the elevator as it arrived at the penthouse.

 

He headed straight for the bar, ignoring the wreckage and the recumbent form of his brother on the couch. So many broken bottles, not enough with anything left inside them. And really, he felt the need to down a bloody _river_ of alcohol right now. Finally picking out a bottle with the top sheared off but precious contents intact, he'd just started pouring it into a glass when the sound of a somewhat pitiful moan came from behind him.

 

“Oh, sleeping on the job,” he crowed, turning to see Amenadiel gradually hauling himself to a seated position. His brother stayed slumped over his knees, head in hands, and Lucifer took a long drink.

 

Then he refilled his glass all the way to the top.

 

“There's been a lot of excitement while you've been having a nap, brother.”

 

Dropping his hands, Amenadiel sighed, glancing up to see Lucifer backlit against the light of the bar. Lucifer watched him squint, watched him reach up and rub his eyes and look away.

 

Something in the devil's gut lurched in apprehension.

 

Amenadiel got to his feet. “Luci, we still have to find-”

 

“Malcolm? Yes, that's dealt with, it's old news really.”

 

“It's...” Lucifer saw his brother stop, remember he'd been wounded. A quick check revealed smooth, healed angelic flesh, and Amenadiel asked, “Where's Maze?”

 

“Well, I was going to ask you the same question; perhaps your snoring drove her away?”

 

Another look at Lucifer, another wince. Lucifer's stomach twisted further, and he downed the rest of the glass then picked up the broken bottle, drinking straight from it. He stayed where he was, propped up against the bar.

 

“I spoke to Dad,” he said, as lightly as he was able.

 

“Excuse me?” Disbelief. Not entirely unwarranted, under the circumstances.

 

“I offered him my services, in exchange f- that doesn't really matter.” But oh fuck, did it matter. “He accepted.”

 

“He... replied to you?”

 

“Hmm, well, not in words.”

 

Amenadiel seemed to struggle with this for a moment. “And what does father want?”

 

“For me to stay here, for the moment. There's _work_ to be done. So you can take your little crusade to get me back to hell and stuff it up your plumed-”

 

“Lucifer!”

 

Lucifer stopped, and took another drink from the broken glass rim of the bottle.

 

“I-” Amenadiel looked at him again, winced again. “Have a really bad headache. My eyes are...”

 

“Having problems, brother?” Lucifer drawled. “You really should get that seen to.”

 

Amenadiel moved abreast of him, staring over his shoulder at the elevator. “I'm going to find Maze,” he said quietly. “You can do-” and here he gave a small huff and glanced at the bar “-whatever you're going to do.”

 

“Ta ta,” said Lucifer. “Don't let the lift cable get cut and send you to your horrible death on the way out.”

 

Amenadiel gave him a disappointed look, and left in a gust of wind.

 

Finally.

 

A search behind the bar revealed a stash of bottles which hadn't been smashed, and Lucifer took as many as he could carry – seven, as it happened – over to the table by the couch. He sat down with a groan, imagining that this was what humans meant when they said they felt old and worn, even though his body seemed to have been returned in top-notch condition.

 

He opened three bottles at once, and made a dedicated start to finishing them all simultaneously.

 

\-------------------------

 

The next evening, having avoided a slew of phone calls from the detective, he finally sent a reply to her most recent insistent text that simply said 'Family business.'

 

Tempting as the urge to sit and work through the remainder of all the alcohol in the club was, he instructed his people to clean up downstairs and prepare for another normal night.

 

Upstairs he left untouched, feeling the broken glass strewn across the floor crunch futilely under his bare feet as he roamed around. Cleaning up _this_ mess – even ordering someone else to do it – seemed a somehow insurmountable task.

 

For a brief second he wished Maze was there.

 

Downstairs, the club gradually came alive – the recent controversy and murder on the premises apparently attracting a larger than usual hoard of curious people. Humans, he thought to himself in mocking bemusement. Willing to flock anywhere just to get the chance to gossip about it.

 

He moved through the crowd towards the bar, feeling distant and uninterested in the crowd that usually pleased him. Then someone bumped into him, and he turned to look down at an incredibly well framed pair of breasts.

 

“Oh, hello,” he purred, default reaction coming to the fore. “We haven't been introduced.”

 

The person they were attached to giggled, and he smiled a dazzling smile at her. “I'm Lucifer Morningstar. _Delighted_ to meet you.”

 

\------------------------

 

He had sex with Chastity (really, that was a name just _begging_ to be dispelled), Gary, Michael, Emma and Natalie and Nicola, and then had a quickie with Sarah behind the curtain at the side of the stage. As dawn broke he staggered up to the penthouse – the mess reminding him to be grateful that he'd fucked all of those _wonderful_ people in the storage room downstairs instead - and fell face down into his bed.

 

Then he got up in the evening and repeated the whole thing again – except that this time he did get someone to clean up all the broken glass upstairs, because the value of a good mattress and headboard couldn't be underestimated, really.

 

\--------------------------------

 

Detective Decker showed up early the next day.

 

“Mmpfh,” he muttered in disgust as he opened his eyes to discover the sun trying it's best to break through the clouds. “What time 's it?”

 

“Almost noon,” came the voice from behind him, and oh, she sounded irritated.

 

He buried his head back in the pillow, and willed himself to believe this was all a hallucination.

 

“Lucifer,” she barked, and a second later there was the sharp smack of linen against the back of his thighs. _High_ on the back of his thighs.

 

“Why, Detective!” He rolled over, instantly more awake, only to find her suddenly averting her eyes and clearing her throat. A quick glance down revealed that no, she wasn't suffering from the same problem as Amenadiel, she was just having her usual unfortunate modesty issues. “If you wanted to play, all you needed to do was ask!”

 

“I don't- I'm not...” There was that moment of beautifully flustering her again, the one he delighted in every time. So easy to accomplish, now that he knew how to provoke her. She gave the slightest little snort, and her eyes started to trace the path from his toes up his calves to his... She dragged her gaze away again, and he gave a smug grin.

 

“Like what you see?”

 

She turned all the way around now, and her voice went back to professional and irked as she faced the opposite wall. “Put some clothes on, Lucifer. And then you're coming with me.”

 

“Am I?” he asked cheerfully. “Excellent. Though we could accomplish that a great deal more easily _without_ the clothes, darling.”

 

She let out a sharp exhale through her nose, and he rolled to the side of the bed and strode naked to his wardrobe. “What am I dressing for?” he asked with a glance over his shoulder, noting with satisfaction that her gaze had strayed to his behind. “I know a wonderful little place in-”

 

“The police station, Lucifer. We need you to come in and give a statement.”

 

“Well, you can do that, can't you? I mean, I know that you're still fairly primitive as a species, but you _have_ mastered reading and writing.”

 

There was a telltale pause. “I need you to come in and give a statement, to back me up.” He turned, and she averted her eyes hurriedly. “So that it doesn't look like I just ran off half-cocked and shot another cop.”

 

“But that's exactly what you did.”

 

On second thoughts, perhaps a shower first. It had been a busy night, after all.

 

“Lucifer!”

 

“Mmm?” he said, picking out a suit and carrying it back to lay on the bed.

 

“They need to hear whether or not I had cause. That it was self defence!”

 

“Oh,” he said. “Well, it definitely was! He would have shot you and your offspring in a heartbeat – not to mention that he'd already killed me.”

 

He left the detective still trying to work out her reply, and slipped into the adjacent bathroom. A quick rinse under the _very_ excellent _very_ hot shower – he took it all back about humans, they were marvellous creatures – and he felt somewhat ready to face the world.

 

Suit on, damp hair pushed back even as it threatened to curl, he joined her at the door.

 

“Shall we?”

 

\---------------------------

 

“The thing is,” he explained to Linda later that day. “It feels a bit awkward now. You know – I died and then promised massive favours to he-who-shall-not-be-named just to keep her alive.”

 

“Why did you do that?”

 

“What do you mean, why did I do that? What was I going to do, leave her to die?”

 

“Yes, exactly,” Linda said peaceably. “Why didn't you just leave her to die?”

 

He gave her a dark look. “I don't think you're very good at this therapy thing – encouraging people to - no, wait,” he said, on seeing her shift to interrupt. “Well she didn't deserve to die, did she!”

 

“Lots of people don't deserve to die. Those people die every day,” she pointed out.

 

“That's different,” he grumbled.

 

“Why?”

 

This took a moment's thought. “She's... better than them.”

 

“Is she? Objectively speaking? Or is it just that you care about her, that you have a connection with her?”

 

He shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, well, yes – that then.”

 

“So you thought that she was worth dying for?”

 

“Well it's not like I planned to die! That wasn't deliberate.”

 

Linda considered him for a moment. “But this other thing you mentioned, the favour. That _was_ deliberate.”

 

He shifted again, then leaned back against the couch. “Yes, I suppose it was. I begged for it. _Prayed_ for it, not that there's much difference.”

 

“And how does that make you feel?”

 

“Bloody angry, that's how it makes me feel!” He paused, blew out a breath. “Bloody stupid. Going against _everything_ I've ever...”

 

“But he delivered? You said you asked your father for help saving Chloe, and he helped. The fact that you asked saved her life.”

 

He gave a grimace that was supposed to be a smile.

 

“So was that not worth it too?”

 

“I don't know.” He tapped his fingers against the arm of the couch and stared off into space. He'd been willing to promise anything in that moment. Would he have done differently if he'd known? “I didn't know what he was going to ask in return.”

 

“What _did_ he-”

 

“Enough with the bloody questions,” he snarled, and she reared back slightly at the expression on his face. “Sorry,” he added, in a rather forced tone. “I just – I think I've had enough for today. I'll see you...” He didn't finish the sentence, and was on his feet in moments.

 

“Lucifer, I really think it's important that you...” She sighed. “Talk about this,” she continued to the empty room. “Especially your anger.”

 

\-----------------------------

 

Maze returned on the fifth day. She found Lucifer in the penthouse bar in the early evening, chain smoking cigarettes in between drinking straight from the bottle of expensive scotch he had on the counter.

 

“Give me that,” she said, and reached past him to grab it, taking a slug for herself. He looked at her rather as if he'd never expected to see her again, so caught the exact moment when she turned to him and flinched.

 

“Urg, what's wrong with you?” she asked, and rubbed at her eyes with one hand. “You-” she gestured vaguely at the entirety of him “-hurt to look at.”

 

“Mmm,” he said, and gave a tight smile. “Got a bit of a heavenly sunburn. Nothing to worry about.”

 

“Heavenly...” She looked again, squinting slightly as she eyed him up and down. “What the hell happened to you?”

 

“Oh, let's not talk about _me_ , Maze,” he said, getting to his feet and looming over her. Anger was still sparking in his gut, directionless and whirling, and she deserved her portion of it. “Let's talk about you. Where the hell have you been?”

 

She shrugged, appearing completely unaffected. “Needed to get away for a bit. Clear my head.”

 

“Clear your head!” he thundered. “You're a bloody demon!”

 

“Yeah, well you're the devil and yet here you sit, brooding in a cloud of depression and mortality.”

 

His hands clenched into fists, and a tic started in his jaw. “Don't push me, Maze.”

 

“Why not?” She gave a snort, and nudged him in the chest with the neck of the bottle. “Seems to me you need some pushing.”

 

“Maze.”

 

“God, you're pathetic.”

 

His chin tilted down, and his visage flashed red and terrible. “Have a care, Mazikeen,” he said silkily. “Trust me, the mood I'm in I'm not inclined to be lenient.”

 

“Lenient.” She snorted again. “Anyway, I'm not speaking to you.”

 

He opened his mouth, to say what he didn't know, but she turned her back on him and moved away, heading for the elevator. Taking his bottle of whisky with her.

 

\---------------------------

 

“Lucifer, I could really use your help on this one. I, uh, I don't know if you got my messages, but I got suspended for a week over the way I handled the kidnapping. They were lenient, but, well, I really need a good result on this case.”

 

The detective sounded tired. Hopeful, but tired. After the first few ignored attempts at contact post 'statement giving,' she'd mostly given up. He wasn't sure whether to be offended or glad about that. He wanted to see her, to see for himself again that she was still alive, to have her entertaining and irritating company, but he also desperately _didn't_ want to.

 

The knowledge of the deal he'd made was a frantic _beat beat beat_ in his mind all day and all night, no matter how much he tried not to think of it, to pretend he was mistaken, that it didn't exist. This _thing_ he'd agreed to for her, to keep her safe. Something both impossible and also really high up on the list of things that he would never, _ever_ have willingly done by choice. Dad was a right bastard.

 

“I'm sorry, Detective, I can't at the moment.”

 

There was a long silence over the line.

 

“Because you're busy,” she said flatly.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Busy with what, Lucifer? Sleeping your way through the entire population of LA?”

 

“You do me too much credit, Detective. Even I couldn't manage to make it through that many people in so little time. Not and leave them all satisfied, at any rate.”

 

It had been two weeks now. Two weeks of partying and sex and booze and not seeing Chloe or Amenadiel or Maze, or anyone else that could remind him.

 

It wasn't working.

 

She sighed. “Look, I get that you're working though... whatever, at the moment. But...” She trailed off, and he pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Actually, no, I don't get it. Yes, we were all in danger. We all, you and Trixie and me, we almost died. But we have to carry on, Lucifer, you can't just hole up and pretend that none of this matters to you!”

 

“I assure you, Detective,” he murmured, “I'm doing nothing of the sort.”

 

\-------------------------

 

“So Detective Decker thinks that I'm ignoring her because I was frightened by the reminder of her – of all of our – mortality.”

 

“Weren't you?”

 

“No,” he cried. “I mean, yes, it is terrifying that you're all so... squishy. That at any given moment you can just topple over and die. How can you live like that? And yes, I admit the idea of her dying does fill me with not unjustified apprehension. I mean, if she dies then...”

 

“Lucifer?” Linda waited a moment, but he was lost in his thoughts, brow creased and eyes contemplating nothing. “Lucifer?” His gaze snapped back to her. “Can you tell me what you were thinking just now?”

 

“What I was thinking?” After a moment he attempted to plaster on a salacious look. “Why, I was merely thinking that if the dear detective died before I have sex with her it would be a terrible tragedy.”

 

“No.”

 

“No? I assure you, it really would be quite tragic. I'm sure you remember.” He leaned forward slightly, and his dark eyes seemed to-

 

“No!” She pushed back in her chair; he could see the effort it took.

 

Sitting back with a slightly smug smile, he raised an eyebrow. She sighed.

 

“My point was that you're deflecting again. Trying to bring things down to a sexual level so that you don't have to discuss a deeper connection.”

 

“Trust me,” he said. “I can make a _very_ deep connection with my-”

 

“No!” she practically yelped, and held up a hand, palm out.

 

“Fine,” he said with a small moue. “But you're no fun.”

 

She let a few seconds pass, then, “If Chloe dies, then...?”

 

He sighed, wishing she was a bit less persistent. And she never seemed to want to talk about the right things; it was very frustrating. “Well then I won't be able to see her any more. _And_ she doesn't deserve it. And she'll probably go to bloody heaven.”

 

“Okay,” the doctor said with a slight smile. “Let's start with the first of those. You don't want her to die because you won't be able to see her any more.”

 

“Right,” he agreed, not seeing where she was going with this.

 

“Because you'd miss her.”

 

“Righ- Well, I suppose so. I mean, she does make this little world marginally more interesting.”

 

“So you'd be unhappy if she died?”

 

He grew impatient, crossing his legs and swinging the top one. “We've covered this, Linda, really. Yes, of course I'd be _unhappy_ if she died, that's why I made a deal with my bloody father to-”

 

“Yes?” She asked when he cut himself off. He started tapping his fingers on his thigh, and she changed tack. “Can you tell me why you don't want to talk about it?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why don't you want to tell me the deal you made with your father? Was it so bad?”

 

He stared at her as though she was an alien.

 

“Yes,” he snapped. “Yes, it was so bad. It's to do something that I really, really never wanted to do again. Also, I don't even know how it's physically possible down here, and to be honest I'm thinking of going back to Hell just as a giant fuck you, except that I'm slightly worried that the detective's _life_ might be on the line if I do!”

 

“Wow.” Her face was blank for a moment while she sorted through that, and he rubbed his chest in an idle motion. “He's asked you to do something... illegal? Or harmful to yourself?”

 

Again with the bewildered stare. “Aren't you listening to a word I say? Of course it's not bloody illegal – though maybe it should be.” He huffed out a breath.

 

“And harmful to you? Mentally _or_ physically?”

 

He gave a little shrug at that, staring down at her coffee table.

 

“Lucifer-”

 

“And we're done,” he said, standing as abruptly as he had the last time. “Thank you so much, Doctor, it was a pleasure, really, but let's never go through this kind of excruciatingly boring conversation again.”

 

He was out the door in a flash, and she was left contemplating it. “Oh, we're getting there,” she muttered to herself.

 

\-----------------------------

 

“Why're you hiding here, anyway?” Mazikeen asked him as she munched her way through a large bag of extra crunchy potato chips. The extra crunchy part was getting on his nerves.

 

“Can you go back to not speaking to me?” he asked petulantly, even if some traitorous part of him was pleased at the attention.

 

“No,” she said bluntly. “All this moping is getting on my nerves. I don't even need to be here, I can feel it happening from twenty miles away.”

 

“I'm not moping,” he said, raising his head from the bar.

 

“Uh huh. Did you have a falling out with your detective? Did she finally realise you were the scumbag you, well, are.”

 

He shot her a look. “No, Maze, the detective is as desperate for my company as ever. Why, only the other day she was ringing to beg me to help her on a case.” He preened a little.

 

She took another handful of chips and crammed them into her mouth. “When was that?” she mumbled through the mouthful, and he deflated.

 

“Doesn't matter. I've just decided it's not for me at the moment. This whole solving crime thing, it's boring.”

 

She eyed him mistrustfully.

 

“I'd have thought you'd be _pleased_. You're always on at me to give up my little human playmates.”

 

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then swallowed. “I was just getting used to them. Besides,” and she reached out and punched him, hard, on the shoulder, “that's not the reason. You're being stupid about something.”

 

“No I'm not!” he said, offended.

 

“And there's still something wrong with you. You still look... shiny.”

 

“ _I do not!_ ”

 

She shrugged. “Not my fault if you went and rubbed against something weird.”

 

“Rubbed against...”

 

She took another handful of chips, then mournfully regarded the empty packet. “I need to go get some more of these. Try to sulk less loudly.”

 

\-----------------------

 

“Seriously, dude, what the fuck is going on with you?”

 

“Uhh, Detective Douche.” Lucifer blindly groped for a pillow and pulled it over his head to try and block the other man out.

 

“Hey!”

 

The pillow was pulled away, and Lucifer reluctantly opened his eyes to find Dan Espinoza standing by his bedside, hands on hips.

 

“First the detective, now you – what is it with you people and awakening me from my beauty sleep. Also,” he added, “She's much more attractive than you – send her next time.”

 

“I will not – Lucifer!”

 

“Well, what?” Lucifer asked, exasperated, and sat up. In deference to Dan's sensibilities, he dragged a sheet over his lower half. The douche was far less entertaining to play with than dear Chloe. “Also, why aren't you in jail? Isn't that where you criminals go?”

 

Dan's mouth tightened. “There's an ongoing investigation. I'm suspended, but it doesn't look like I'll be formally charged.”

 

“Lovely,” Lucifer muttered, thinking it was ridiculous the things some people got away with. Surely at least Chloe wouldn't want to work with the man, now? “Well, what can I do for you?”

 

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

 

“You'll have to be more specific,” Lucifer said darkly.

 

“Why aren't you returning Chloe's calls? Are you through working with the police, because if so just tell her – don't leave her hanging.” Dan paused for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair. “She's got some idea that you're traumatised by what happened. PTSD or some bullshit – I don't buy it. But what the fuck do I know – maybe you are.” Lucifer said nothing. “Get yourself sorted out though, and tell her straight that you don't want to work with her any more so that she can get a new partner assigned rather than valiantly defending your truant ass.”

 

One thing in that barrage caught at Lucifer's attention. “A new partner?”

 

“Yeah.” Dan eyed him. “She needs backup, and you sure as hell aren't doing anything for her.”

 

I'm keeping her alive, Lucifer didn't say. With every moment of my current existence, I'm paying for her life.

 

He gave a tight smile. “I'll be in touch, I promise. Now shoo.”

 

\----------------------------

 

This time when he dropped onto Linda's couch he was weary, defeated. She waited him out.

 

“If it weren't for the detective,” he said finally. “I wouldn't have been shot. I almost went back to hell. But this is worse. If it hadn't been for her, I would never have been trapped in this twisted nightmare.”

 

“Do you blame her?”

 

“Yes,” he said angrily. Then, “No. It was Amenadiel's fault, for bringing back a damned soul. It was my father's fault for not controlling him better. And _oh_ , the irony in that sentence. Maybe this whole thing was my dad's plan from the start – his way of getting me to...”

 

Lucifer's face contorted in a rictus of emotion, and for a second Linda almost thought she saw...

 

“Yes, I blame her,” he started again, and she snapped out of it. “If the detective wasn't so bloody reckless – if she didn't keep running off without thinking about the lives of others, then none of this would have happened!”

 

“It sounds like you're talking about yourself,” she inserted into the quiet. He barely heard the words.

 

“How can I be around her,” he asked hoarsely, “knowing what she's done to me?”

 

“Lucifer.”

 

“Knowing she's the reason-”

 

“Lucifer!”

 

“Maybe I should just let her die,” he said, and her face went very serious.

 

“I don't think you want that, Lucifer.”

 

“No.” He shook his head. “No I don't.”

 

“Whatever this problem is, I'm sure it can be overcome. Why don't you tell me?”

 

He thought about it, and she held her breath.

 

“I'm not sure quite how to put it so that you can understand. Or so that you can have any conception of the consequences, of the...” He groped for words.

 

“Well, just start simply – tell me the basics – and we'll go from there.”

 

“The basics, hmm? Simply? Well then.” He gave her a slightly manic grin. “I suppose you could say I've got a bun in the oven.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When we last spoke, you were talking about the deal you'd made with your father,” Linda opened cautiously. 
> 
> “Yes,” he replied. “That's right.”
> 
> “Why don't you tell me a bit more about that?”

“Well, Detective, here I am, reporting as requested!”

 

It was past ten in the morning, and Chloe looked up from her paperwork to find Lucifer Morningstar stood in front of her desk, arms spread wide as if to say 'look at me, aren't I amazing.' A devilish grin split his face.

 

She sighed, and looked back down at said paperwork. Lucifer's smile dropped dropped like a stone.

 

“What, not happy to see me?”

 

“Lucifer...”

 

“You're the one who called _me_ , Detective.”

 

“Yes, almost a week ago,” she hissed, finally giving him her full attention. It was perhaps worrying how much he'd been craving it. “And it's been three since the – since we were...”

 

“Since you shot the oh-so-deserving Malcolm in the chest three times?” he supplied helpfully.

 

She glared at him. “Since that. Lucifer, you can't just show up whenever you feel like it and ignore me the rest of the time – we've talked about this. I've been really worried!”

 

There was a strange tugging sensation somewhere in the vicinity of his ribcage. Dr Linda probably would have claimed it was an emotion.

 

“Well,” he said, “I'm sorry to have caused you any undue concern, but I'm here now. Problem all solved.”

 

She gave him a look which suggested the problem was not, in fact, all solved. “I don't have a case at the moment, I'm writing up the last one.”

 

“Ah.” He glanced down at the files on her desk. “Well, can you _get_ another one? Surely there must be people out there being murdered?”

 

A grim smile appeared on her face. “I'm really not in a position to ask for a case at the moment, Lucifer. I'm back to getting whatever scraps are handed down to me.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Oh, I don't know! It could be because I took a giant bag of cash out of evidence. It could be because Dan just admitted to doing the same thing with a _murder weapon_ , so currently we're the cute husband-wife couple that breaks the rules. It could be because my _partner_ said in his report that Malcolm killed him, despite the fact that he's very clearly not dead, which takes away from the credibility of his statement _just a little_.”

 

Lucifer stared at her as though she had two heads. “But all of those are ridiculous reasons. You took the money to save your daughter's life – a noble reason if ever I heard one – not to be selfish and end up getting people killed like some people I could mention. You and Detective Douche are certainly _not_ a cute couple, and I _was_ shot – I wasn't going to lie!”

 

She closed her eyes, and visibly counted to ten. “Enough with the devil thing today, Lucifer, I just can't, okay?

 

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then straightened up with a tug at his jacket. “Well. Let's get this sorted out then, shall we? No point leaving our best detective wallowing when she could be out there solving crime.”

 

“Lucifer,” she called out to him, but he was already halfway to the Captain's office.

 

\------------------

 

“I can't believe you,” Chloe said, grabbing Lucifer by the arm as soon as he emerged, triumphant. There was a small smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, however, so he responded with a smug grin. “Come on, not here.”

 

They drove to a nearby cafe, Lucifer humming to himself and Chloe trying to figure out how to ask any of the things she wanted to. He'd been uncommunicative the day she'd dragged him in to give a statement – flippant and flirty but evading everything serious she threw at him. And she didn't want him to avoid her for another month, but...

 

“So, what happened?” she asked after they were seated and Lucifer was perusing the menu with the disappointed air of a man who couldn't find whisky on it anywhere. “That day at the hanger. You just... left.”

 

“Well, being shot takes it out of a devil, you know.”

 

“Lucifer...”

 

His tone turned sharp. “It's not my fault if you don't want to hear it!”

 

“Alright,” she held up a hand. “Alright. So you're saying Malcolm shot you and you just... got up and walked away.”

 

He tilted his head. “Didn't you see?”

 

“I saw...” She paused. “Something. I don't know. I couldn't see well from behind the crate.”

 

“Really, Detective, I'm disappointed in you. Anyway, you and your spawn both survived – happy ending accomplished.”

 

“And you survived because you're immortal,” she said wearily.

 

“Well, no, actually, not in this case. My immortality's a bit patchy lately. No, I talked to my... nevermind. Suffice it to say I made a deal.”

 

“A deal.”

 

“Yes.” He smiled an insincere smile. “And here is our lovely waitress come to take your order.”

 

Chloe ordered coffee and a salad, and Lucifer wrinkled his nose slightly when asked what he wanted. “I've already eaten.”

 

The cup of coffee and one long ramble about the likely unsanitary state of the kitchen later, Chloe interrupted, “But since then? You've been... I thought there was something wrong.”

 

His gaze turned hard. “Oh yes, your pedestrian analysis of post traumatic stress disorder; Detective Douche informed me.”

 

She sighed. “I just think-”

 

“Well you can rest assured that there's nothing wrong with me – well, nothing that would prevent me from helping with your little investigations, anyway.”

 

“Why won't you talk to me?” she asked softly. He clenched his jaw for a moment and glanced away. “You were... not okay that night, Lucifer – I mean, none of us were. But I could see that you...” She struggled with words for a moment. “It's okay to have a problem with what happened.” He snorted, still avoiding her eyes. “”But it's important that you acknowledge it and get help, if you need it.”

 

“I'm here, aren't I?” He gestured broadly, and gave a smile that was more of a grimace. “All better now.”

 

“I just... I just need to know that you won't do it again. Disappear like that. You ignored me for three weeks before that, for no good reason, and then we went through some crazy shit and you ignored me all over again! I need to be able to rely on you, Lucifer, and after that night I really needed my partner.”

 

“Why? You were suspended, it's not like there was anything to do.”

 

“Lucifer.”

 

He shrugged unrepentantly.

 

“Promise me that you won't disappear again.”

 

“I can't do that, Detective,” he said slowly, trying to ignore the way she was watching him. “One never knows what will happen. When hell – or heaven – might come calling.”

 

“Not-” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I mean that you'll at least try – that you'll talk to me – rather than just holing up and going on a month-long bender.”

 

“Well.” He picked up his knife and tapped the end of it against the table. “I suppose I could agree to that.”

 

\-------------------------

 

Back at Lux, Amenadiel was waiting for him

 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” said Lucifer as he walked across the room. “Long time no see - been out slumming it, have you, brother?”

 

“No, that would be you, Luci.” Amenadiel stood, and crossed his arms. “I heard you've been living all your sins to the fullest.”

 

Changing direction, Lucifer headed to the bar. Conversations with his brother required a numbing agent. “Oooh, spying on me again are you. How _is_ Mazikeen these days?”

 

Amenadiel let out a low growl. “You're in all the papers.”

 

“And you're a fan. How sweet.” His glass clinked as he set it back down on the counter. “But really, brother, why are you here. I believe we have something of a truce now, so feel free to toddle off somewhere else and never darken my doorstop again.”

 

There was a long silence. Lucifer deliberately didn't turn around to check if the other angel had left.

 

“Maze said there was something wrong with you. And there is – it wasn't just that night. I thought that I was hallucinating, that there was something wrong with my eyes, but it's not that. You're – what happened, Luci?”

 

Lucifer gave a choked off laugh and spun on his heels, facing the room. Amenadiel stood in the centre of it, wings out, giving it his honest best to solve the mystery by just staring at it really hard. Lucifer laughed again.

 

“Why,” he said, “dear old Dad happened. I told you that, before.”

 

Amenadiel frowned. “Our father made you...” He stopped, gestured up and down at Lucifer, and then tilted his head and scowled. “I've never seen anything like that before. What is it?”

 

Lucifer swigged the remainder of the liquid in his glass, then threw it over his shoulder. It made a satisfying smash. “Divinity, brother.”

 

“That's not... But you're already divine, wings or no. What's making that light?”

 

“Oh, no, it's not _my_ divinity.”

 

“You aren't making any sense.”

 

“I'm incubating the newest of the heavenly host, brother. Apparently it has certain sparkly side effects.”

 

Now Amenadiel snorted and looked away. Really, one day it was going to start grating on Lucifer that no one believed him even though he wasn't lying. Oh wait, that day was long past.

 

“Where have you been, anyway,” Lucifer asked, turning back to retrieve the bottle.

 

Another long silence. Then, “You were right when you said that it was my fault. The things I did...”

 

“Bit single minded, weren't you,” Lucifer agreed.

 

“And so he spoke to you.”

 

Lucifer frowned. “What?”

 

“Father. He spoke to _you_ , not to me.”

 

Oh, and look at Amenadiel's petty rivalry rearing it's snakey head again. Really, Lucifer wasn't sure he'd ever _met_ anyone more insecure. Of course, in this particular case, envy really was being caused by the devil.

 

His smile was brief and humourless.

 

“Trust me when I say that this message only had one possible recipient. Anyway, if you want to speak to Dad so badly just hop up to heaven yourself!”

 

There was a rustle beside him, and Amenadiel came to lean on the bar next to Lucifer, wings vanished. Lucifer grudgingly poured another glass and slid it over. After cradling it in his hands for a moment, Amenadiel looked upwards, and for a moment Lucifer thought he saw tears in his eyes.

 

“I can't,” Amenadiel said.

 

“Can't what?”

 

“The gates of the Silver City are barred to me, brother.”

 

Lucifer gaped at him.

 

“They're what? By whom?”

 

Amenadiel shook his head. “It doesn't matter. I will not try to enter when I am unwelcome. I have angered my father.”

 

“Welcome to the club,” Lucifer muttered. Amenadiel, barred from heaven? Not that his brother hadn't been behaving in a decidedly non-angelic fashion since his arrival, but Lucifer would never have imagined their father going that far. If Amenadiel's orders had been to bring Lucifer back to hell by any means, then he'd technically done nothing wrong besides displaying bad judgement. And Amenadiel wasn't one to disobey the nature of an order.

 

“I don't know what to do,” Amenadiel said heavily.

 

“At least he didn't cast you down to hell,” Lucifer said. No, that was a one-off, apparently; only Lucifer was deserving of that. “So I'm not sure what you're complaining about.”

 

“Lucifer,” Amenadiel said, annoyed.

 

“Urgh, enough. I'm sure if you beg for forgiveness and act like... _yourself_ for a bit he'll let you back in. Now, if you're going to sit here being morose, then I'm going to go somewhere else. Perhaps I'll see if Maze is up for some-”

 

And in the blink of an eye, Amenadiel was gone.

 

\-------------------------

 

“When we last spoke, you were talking about the deal you'd made with your father,” Linda opened cautiously. Lucifer was restless on the couch, shifting his weight, playing with his cufflinks, and seemed more than a little distracted.

 

“Yes,” he replied. “That's right.”

 

“Why don't you tell me a bit more about that?”

 

He heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. “Long story short, Dad created the universe, Dad created me, Dad used me as a conduit to create the other angels. Some infinite period of time later, the human race began, I questioned his authority, got thrown into hell for a few millennia, and then found out the other day that what Dad wants more than anything is a new baby boy.” He sneered the last words, and absently rubbed the centre of his chest.

 

Linda took a deep breath. “Lucifer, a few weeks ago when you and your brother were here I told you that you need to stop expressing yourself in terms of this devil metaphor – it's stopping your progress. No, no,” she said as he opened his mouth to interrupt, “I believe that you've gone through something which has affected you deeply, and that you need to deal with it – especially if it involves your father. But hiding behind this mystical fairytale won't let you do that.”

 

“Fairytale?” he said, offended.

 

“Fairytale, make-believe, whatever you want to call it. How can you ever make progress if you can't even say what's really happened?”

 

He glared at her, jaw clenched.

 

“Lucifer-”

 

His voice dripped ice. “ _Humour me_.”

 

Sensing she was loosing him, she backed off. “Fine. You say your father wants a new son. Are you feeling replaced?”

 

“Replaced?” He opened his mouth to deny it, then paused, looking pensive. “I hadn't even thought of that. The irony of Dad using his cast-off favourite to create something... _better_.”

 

“If it's not that,” she said carefully, “then what is it that bothers you about your father having more children?” He appeared briefly stymied. “I suggested it because frequently an existing child might see new ones as... competition. For affection, attention-”

 

“Well it's not that,” he said sharply. “Dad, no. I just... Well, not that I think the universe needs more angels. My brothers are all proper arseholes.”

 

“All of them?” she asked, sidetracked. “There isn't a single one you still care about?”

 

He shifted, uncomfortable. “Not a single one of them spoke up when I was cast out. They didn't care.”

 

“But you've said that going against the will of your father was very difficult – isn't it possible that they felt they couldn't speak up? Were you friendly with them, before?”

 

Lucifer mouthed the word 'friendly' to himself. “I don't think friendship had been invented yet,” he said dryly. “We just... were. We were as he created us and designed us to be.”

 

She closed her eyes briefly. “And yet you clearly feel rivalry and frustration with your brother Amenadiel – is that all recent?”

 

“No, he's always been a dick.”

 

“Think about what I'm asking you,” she urged.

 

He sighed, not really understanding why this was important, and cast his mind back. “We were all peaceful together, in the beginning. Perhaps there were some who preferred to spend time with each other over others, but we all got along.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“Then... I don't know, actually. Amenadiel and one or two of the others grew jealous of me, saying I was the favourite son. Which was bollocks. Some of the other angels would _compete_ , I suppose, if it makes you happy to call it that; for duties, or to serve our father. And-”

 

“And?” she prompted after he went quiet.

 

“And I grew angry. At how we were all his slaves with no will of our own. At the fact that none of them could see it.”

 

“Alright.” She thought for a moment. “And you think a new son would take their side?”

 

His head jerked up. “Their side? Yes, yes of course he would. He'd have no choice.”

 

“If they don't have a choice, how can you be angry with them?”

 

“I don't mean...” He shook his head. “You don't understand.”

 

“No,” she said slowly. “I don't think I do. But I do think that you're afraid that a new son might take your father's love away from you.”

 

“I don't want my father's _bloody_ _love_!” he almost shouted, shooting to his feet. Then, dropping back to the couch, quietly, “I _don't!_ ”

 

“Lucifer-”

 

“Right, enough, we're done, you're a terrible therapist, Dad knows why I'm paying you so much.”

 

“If it wasn't such a sign that we're making progress I'd be offended that you keep walking out on me,” she said loudly as he started to slip through the door.

 

His face appeared in the gap, upper body leaning through. “Progress?” he asked scornfully.

 

“Yes, Lucifer. I've said before that anything which makes you _feel_ this much – which makes you feel so uncomfortable or angry – is incredibly important. You're doing really well, talking about it.” He hovered for a moment, uncertain of what to say. “I'll see you at our next session.”

 

\-------------------------

 

He showed up at Chloe's house first thing the next morning, knocking like a good devil. A yawning eternity seemed to go past, and then it cracked open.

 

Beatrice stared up at him through the small gap.

 

“Lucifer!” she squealed, throwing the door open and her arms around his middle.

 

“Oof.” His arms went up in a defensive motion, and he held very still in the futile belief that she might not see him any more and go away. After several seconds of no movement on her part, he slowly lowered his arms and patted her carefully on the head. “Hello, small child.”

 

“I haven't seen you for ages,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at him. “I asked Mommy if you were sick because the bad man shot you, and she said that you weren't hurt but you weren't feeling well.”

 

“That's a... remarkably well worded explanation.”

 

“Are you feeling better now?” She did something with her eyes, making them bigger and more round. It was deeply unnatural.

 

“Yes, yes I am.” He reached down and cautiously detached her from him, holding her by the wrists at arm's length. “Where's your – ah, Detective!”

 

Chloe had emerged from round the corner, and halted in surprise at finding Lucifer on her doorstep.

 

“Trixie baby, what did I tell you about opening the door?” she said sternly.

 

“Not to,” the child dutifully recited, and then gave a little tug against Lucifer's hold. He let go, trusting that she wouldn't attack again now that her mother was there to control her.

 

“Not to,” her mother repeated. “Now go get your shoes and coat.”

 

Upon lack of further greeting, Lucifer stepped into the house, hands in pockets, and began to stroll towards the kitchen.

 

“Lucifer, no!” said Chloe absently as she picked up a small, hideously multicoloured backpack from the table.

 

“I haven't even done anything yet,” he said, mock-offended.

 

“Yeah, well I know you – you were about to,” she muttered.

 

He beamed. “Oh you _do_ know me!”

 

“Much to my everlasting regret,” she said, and he could practically hear the eye-roll. “Now how about you – Oh my God!”

 

This last was said as she caught his reflection in the hall mirror, immediately whirling to stare at him.

 

“What?” he asked, peering down at himself. “I'm not wrinkled, am I?” He smoothed down his shirt. “You really don't need to bring dear old Dad into the conversation just because-”

 

“No, Lucifer, I thought I saw...” She trailed off, glanced in the mirror again, and frowned. “Nothing.”

 

“Nothing?” he said doubtfully.

 

“It must have just been the light, or a bird out the window or something,” she said to herself, and checked the mirror again.

 

He walked over to stand beside her and examined his reflection. “Oooh, very handsome.”

 

That seemed to break her out of her thoughts; she gave him a gentle smack on the arm and a reluctant smile.

 

“Trixie!” she called loudly. And then, to him, “We have a case, I got a call this morning.”

 

“Excellent! I'm longing to get my hands on someone worth punishing right now.”

 

\---------------------------

 

The case was a double murder, two sisters found in their apartment lying in pools of their own blood.

 

“This is Amy Madison,” Dan said as they walked into the living room. “Her sister Haley is in one of the bedrooms.”

 

“Alright,” said Chloe as Lucifer crouched down to look more closely at the first victim. “What do we know?”

 

“No one heard anything, no sign of forced entry. Both girls are registered at this address. The medical examiner puts time of death for this one at between ten to twelve last night, she's just checking the other body now.”

 

“Not expecting visitors, was she,” Lucifer commented, and the two detectives glanced down. “I mean, you hardly invite people over when you're in your PJs. Not unless you know them very well, at least,” and he waggled his eyebrows. The nightwear in question was a satin camisole top and extremely skimpy sleep shorts, so he felt his point was valid.

 

Dan flipped through his notebook. “Our other vic was dressed to go out.”

 

“Cause of death?” Chloe asked. Blood had soaked though the girl's strappy top, as well as the surrounding carpet. There was an expression of horrified surprise frozen on her face.

 

“Two stab wounds to the chest and stomach. They must have caught her by surprise – no sign of defensive injuries.”

 

Losing interest, Lucifer got to his feet and went to investigate the bedroom, following the trail of little numbered evidence markers down the hall. He ignored the forensics team and focused on the second dead human. The body had fallen halfway across the bed, face down, with her feet still on the floor. Her pale pink top made it easy to see where she'd been stabbed in the back.

 

“Unsporting,” Lucifer muttered.

 

The room itself seemed to reveal few other clues, a perfectly normal, boring apartment with perfectly normal, boring people in it.

 

“But someone thought you were interesting enough to murder,” he murmured.

 

“Found anything?” came Chloe's voice from behind, and he spun to find her standing in the doorway.

 

“Detective,” he said happily. “This one was stabbed in the back.” A moment later he added, “Bit hard to catch someone unawares if they've just heard their sister being horribly killed in the next room, isn't it?”

 

Dan came in behind Chloe, and obviously caught the last sentence. “So maybe Haley was killed first?” He glanced to the side. “Time of death on this one?”

 

“Same time frame as the other body,” said a fresh faced woman packing away her kit. “I couldn't tell you who died first. It looks like it could have been the same murder weapon, from the size and shape of the wounds, but that's just preliminary. I'll check the wounds and see if we find traces of blood from one of them in the other.”

 

“But if this sister-”

 

“Haley,” Dan supplied again.

 

“-died first, then the killer had to get all the way into the bedroom, kill her, and then kill Amy on the way out. Almost definitely someone they knew. Lucifer, what are you-”

 

“Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a twist!” He released the girl's top from where he'd drawn it up. “I _thought_ I recognised that bra.” Pointing at where a delicate lacy strap was visible at the girl's shoulder, he directed a smirk at the detectives. “Very high class,” he said approvingly. “Clearly someone was expecting to get laid tonight.” And then, after a moment's pause. “Actually, do you know, I think this whole scene is clearly a threesome gone wrong.”

 

Chloe sighed. “Right, okay, we're done here. We'll go talk to the family; Dan, see if you can trace their movements yesterday, find out if they were supposed to meet anyone.”

 

The other detective nodded, and left the room.

 

“Come on, Lucifer,” Chloe said, and turned to leave.

 

“You never give credence to my theories,” Lucifer said with a small pout, and reached out to give the bedpost a suggestive tap. What was _supposed_ to be a suggestive tap. Instead there was a splintering creak, and the solid wooden end of the post came off under his hand, flying a good few feet and hitting the wooden floor with a _thunk_. He stared after it in some astonishment.

 

“What are you – Lucifer!”

 

“I didn't-”

 

“I can't believe you! Interfering with a crime scene!”

 

“But I barely touched it!” he objected.

 

She eyed him somewhat suspiciously, then went to inspect the post. “Maybe it was damaged? Hey,” she called to one of the forensics team out in the hallway. “Come and mark this, it will have my partner's fingerprints on. Check if there's any reason why it would have come off like that.”

 

With a final look of dire warning in Lucifer's direction, she strode out of the room. He trailed meekly after her.

 

\----------------------------------

 

The parents lived out in Burbank, in a nice neighbourhood with a small yard out front. The lace curtains twitched after they rang the bell.

 

“Uh, very Stepford,” Lucifer said. “It was the parents, they did it.”

 

He carefully didn't smile as the detective levelled an unimpressed and exasperated look his way. “Will you stop making completely unhelpful guesses,” she hissed, and then plastered a neutral face on as the door opened.

 

A woman in her late fifties, maybe early sixties regarded them warily. “Whatever you're selling-”

 

“LAPD, ma'am,” Chloe cut in. “Are you Mrs Madison? Could we come in?”

 

The woman hesitated. “We have visitors. Could this wait until another time?”

 

“I'm afraid not. It's... about your daughters.”

 

“Haley and Amy? Why, what's wrong?” She put her arm across the door frame, blocking them from the house.

 

Sensing impending bullheadedness, Lucifer intervened. “I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your little gathering, but standing on the doorstep is so uncivilised. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to show us your home?”

 

With a slightly dazed look, she withdrew and widened the door. “Please, come in.”

 

Inside, they walked past the doorway to the living room and saw several people sitting inside. They were led to the kitchen, and Mrs Madison went to fetch her husband on Detective Decker's suggestion.

 

“This is Ted,” she said as she re-entered with an older, grey-haired man. Lucifer, who'd just started poking through one of the kitchen cupboards, closed it. “What were you doing?” she asked with a frown.

 

“Well, it was terribly boring just waiting around.”

 

Chloe shot him a quick look, which he interpreted to mean 'behave.'

 

“Mr and Mrs Madison, I'm afraid we have some bad news.”

 

The parents took the information that their daughters had been horribly murdered rather well, Lucifer thought. The husband looked stoic and then angry. The wife shocked and then leaning on him, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

“Do you have any idea who might have wished them harm?” the detective asked. Lucifer had edged slightly behind her in case someone expected him to be sympathetic.

 

“No, none at all,” the father replied. “They were good girls. Liked by everyone – ask any of our friends.”

 

“Would that be _those_ friends,” Lucifer asked, pointing in the direction of the living room.

 

Mrs Madison dried her tears with a tissue, and nodded. “Some people from our church group.” Lucifer shuddered. “We've all known each other for a long time. Obviously now that the girls are in the city they don't manage to visit as much, but... I mean, they _didn't_ manage to visit as much.” Her lips trembled, and she appeared on the verge of more tears.

 

“Right.” Lucifer clapped his hands together. “No time like the present then!”

 

\----------------------------------

 

The members of the church group were, on the whole, a rather uninspiring bunch – not that that surprised Lucifer in the slightest. In his experience, religion tended to correlate with either extreme dullness or extreme fervour, and neither necessarily made for good companions.

 

There were three families; Lucifer tuned out the introductions almost immediately as being pointless information and examined them in turn.

 

Couple 1: too elderly looking to be up to anything athletic, let alone some late night stabbing.

 

Couple 2: Appeared to be having a bit of a spat. Best guess was that he'd been unfaithful. Both dressed in extremely off-putting clothing. Accompanied by two fair-haired grown children, one male, one female, both _very_ pretty.

 

Couple 3: She was uptight, he was bored. Also accompanied by their son, who was in his mid-twenties, much the same age as the children of the other couple. Which made them all the same approximate age as their victims, according to Detective Douche's digging, which potentially made them _excellent_ sources of information.

 

“God has a plan,” the wife of couple 2 was saying to the grieving Mrs Madison when he started paying attention again.

 

“They're in a better place,” said wife of couple 1.

 

“God will look after them.” Husband of couple 2.

 

Husband of couple 3 was dozing off on the couch, and being prodded by his false-smiled wife. “God has a plan,” she said, echoing the first woman. You'd think she'd at least have the resourcefulness to come up with her _own_ trite, stock phrase that made absolutely no one feel any better.

 

“You do realize that God doesn't bother with each individual soul that comes through the gates, don't you?” Lucifer said, feeling somewhat provoked. “And the whole _plan_ thing is somewhat counter to the whole free-will argument, which could take millennia to sort though.” He paused a minute. “I've _had_ millennia, and I still can't understand what the hell's going on with that one.”

 

“Lucifer!”

 

A glance at Chloe showed her to be truly irritated at him.

 

“Forgive me,” he said, raising his hands. “I was feeling... overwrought.”

 

He exited back to the kitchen, only to be followed a moment later by the son from couple 3. He was a short, dark haired man with glasses who looked like he needed a stiff drink.

 

“I'm Martin,” the man introduced himself, and held out his hand to shake.

 

“Lucifer,” Lucifer said. Lucifer shared the need for a stiff drink, and started checking the cupboards again optimistically. Not even a bottle of wine.

 

“They can be a bit much, can't they,” the man said with a tilt of his head to the doorway.

 

“Who can?” The pair of them turned at the new voice to find that they'd been joined by the son and daughter of couple 2. This was getting confusing - 2A and 2B, then. “Oh, mum you mean?”

 

2B snorted. “Tell me about it.”

 

3A, no, wait, Martin, nodded. “Thought I should make my escape while there was still time.”

 

“We're Luke and Beth,” said 2A.

 

 _Very_ pretty.

 

“Well, hello,” said Lucifer, and smiled. “Go on then, how well did you all know the two paragons of virtue we've been hearing all about – I know they weren't really, I've seen their underwear.”

 

This provoked a laugh from the girl, and slightly dirtier ones from the two men.

 

“Oh, they were alright,” said Luke. “Better once they moved out – they were going nuts, staying here.”

 

“Especially Amy,” Beth added. “Although Haley...” she trailed off, and after a moment Lucifer put on his most sympathetic and inquisitive face.

 

“And why's that?”

 

“Oh, Amy was always the adventurous sort, didn't like being penned in,” Martin said.

 

“Did you still see them?” Lucifer asked.

 

“Yes,” Luke said, and then glanced at the others. They nodded. “Well, more Hayley – we go to the theatre, and meet up for drinks every couple of weeks. Amy comes sometimes.”

 

“I go – _went_ \- running with Amy twice a week,” Beth volunteered.

 

Lucifer looked at Martin, who shrugged. “I don't go into the city that often, but I used look them up when I did.”

 

“How interesting.” Lucifer smiled a flirtatious smile, and quickly had a list of the last time they'd all seen the girls, the fact that neither of the Madison sisters seemed to have a boyfriend – though he thought Martin looked shifty when he was saying that – and the phone numbers of Luke and Beth.

 

Things became slightly awkward when, back in the living room he also received a business card (with my _personal_ number) from wife 3, right under her husband's nose. And wife 2 came to perch on the arm of the chair he was sitting on, and rested her hand rather intimately on his thigh. Then...

 

“I didn't do anything, Detective,” he insisted as Chloe hurried him away from the house. “I'm just a very attractive man.”

 

In a genuine effort to find out who the killer might have been, he'd asked Mrs Madison what she desired, and, well, the answer had been rather explicit and he'd played a starring role. Ah, these repressed religious types!

 

\-------------------------------

 

The rest of the day promised to be a lot of boring waiting around for lab results and computer searches, so Lucifer excused himself to head back to Lux.

 

It was not a smooth journey.

 

“There are side effects,” he told Maze glumly late that afternoon, staring down at the new dent he'd made in the penthouse bar while testing his hypothesis. She paused at the top of the stairs for a moment, as if debating whether or not to engage, before striding over to perch casually on a stool beside him.

 

“Side effects to what?” she asked disinterestedly, examining her fingernails.

 

“To the-” he waved a hand “-heavenly sunburn thing.”

 

“Riiight,” she drawled. “You never did explain that. I asked Amenadiel what would make you look like that, and he had no idea.”

 

“Oh course he wouldn't.” Lucifer sighed. “He wouldn't remember.”

 

Before his time, as it were. Or rather, right at the very beginning of it.

 

She snorted. “Remember? This has happened to you before?”

 

“Not quite like this, it hasn't,” he muttered, and rubbed a hand over his heart. “I'm on earth, now. And suffering from occasional mortality issues. So everything's new and different this time around.”

 

He'd initially wondered if the slip with his strength and the bedpost earlier had been due to the detective's presence, but then on the way back he'd also managed to wrench off his car door when trying to open it and she'd been nowhere nearby. Then he'd gently tapped his fist against the bar a few times, and voila, broken marble.

 

This had the potential to get extremely expensive.

 

“It's like being a teenaged Clark Kent,” he said under his breath, and Maze turned to give him a look.

 

“No, really, what's wrong with you?” she asked. “Not that I'm talking to you, because you're still a complete ass. But you're acting incredibly weird.”

 

He twitched. He'd been letting her have her little tantrum, because he couldn't say she had no right to feel upset, but, “How exactly am _I_ at fault when you went to my brother and helped in his plan to kill me, then turned around and slept with him without consulting me first. That was all you, Maze!”

 

She snarled. “I did that for you! I tried to kill him for _you_!”

 

“And what part of any of that did you have a problem with, exactly?” he asked coolly. “As far as I know, having sex and trying to kill angels are some of your hobbies. Or are you gaining some pesky little human emotions of your own?”

 

“Urgh!” she yelled, and shoved past him.

 

He opened his mouth to make a parting comment when his phone rang. “Lovely,” he sighed, and answered. “Detective. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lucifer,” Amenadiel said after a moment. “Is that true?”
> 
> “Of course it's true, you bloody twit,” Lucifer snarled. “Why on earth would I make up something so utterly stupid?”

“Hello, Lucifer,” chirped a high pitched voice on the other end of the line. Having rechecked the display and discovered that he was not, in fact, imagining things, Lucifer put the phone back to his ear.

 

“Beatrice?”

 

“Yup,” she said gleefully. “Mummy wants you to come over.”

 

“Does she now?” Lucifer said, voice warming appreciably.

 

“She said she wanted some quiet time with you.”

 

“ _Did_ she now?”

 

“Yup. Oh, I have to go!” and he was hung up on without further ceremony.

 

After staring at his phone for a moment, a broad smile spread across his face.

 

He called a cab.

 

\-----------------------

 

Chloe regarded him with apparent surprise when she opened the door.

 

“Detective,” he said smoothly. “How's your evening going?” He stepped forward slightly, such that she had to give way or appear impolite. He smiled to himself – the devil's tricks.

 

“Lucifer, what are you doing here?” The words were, to be honest, not a surprise – not when he'd instantly seen how clearly she _hadn't_ been expecting his presence. Still, making the most of an opportunity and all that.

 

“Why I'm here on your invitation,” he said, injecting a slight note of hurt into his tone. “Your child said that you wanted me to come over.”

 

He watched as realisation, irritation and then resignation swept across her face. “Of course she did,” Chloe muttered ruefully.

 

“And while I can now see that she did so without your knowledge, I presume that something prompted her call?”

 

She closed the door behind him and gestured him further in. “No,” she said, heading for the couch. “Well, yes.”

 

“Yes?” He drew the word out, sitting down and crossing his legs. The armchair showed tell tale signs of having been jumped on energetically by a small monkey, with the seat lumpy and uneven beneath him. “Tell Lucifer all about it.”

 

“Seriously?” She shot him a look. “You ignore me for weeks when I could really use someone to talk to, and now you think you can just waltz in and have me spill my guts?”

 

“That _would_ be unreasonable, wouldn't it,” he said agreeably. “But if something's bothering you and I can help...”

 

She sighed. “Nothing's bothering me, Lucifer.”

 

“And yet your offspring thought you wanted some 'quiet time' with me.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “To talk. Because it feels like you're hiding something.”

 

“I assure you, Detective, I'm as opaque as glass.”

 

“No,” she frowned, “you're really not.”

 

For a brief moment the idea of telling her flashed through his mind. She would be sympathetic, and agree that his father had been wrong to sneak this deal upon him. She would be grateful that he'd saved her.

 

Except, of course, _that would never happen_ , because she'd shown an adamant tendency to disbelieve his identity.

 

“I wasn't lying when I said that I was having problems with my family,” he said slowly. “It's rendered me somewhat... distracted of late.” Then, on seeing her look of concern, “Much as I love talking about myself, I believe you've suggested I owe you a debt for not being here to listen the last few weeks. Well,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I'm here now.”

 

\------------------------------

 

“She fell asleep on the couch,” he told Linda the next morning.

 

“I see,” the doctor said, and considered him. “How did it make you feel, sharing those things with her? Having her trust you?”

 

“Awkward at the time – and, now that you're overanalysing it, quite uncomfortable.”

 

“Really, Lucifer?”

 

He shrugged. “For all that people like to tell me their deepest desires, very few have ever really confided in me.”

 

“Because it requires trust, and connection. Two things which you have built with Chloe, over time.”

 

“You make it sound like hard work.”

 

“Wasn't it?”

 

He opened his mouth and then rejected any number of things which came to mind. “The strangest thing about coming here is that you say things I can never predict.”

 

“Why is that so strange?”

 

“Well, I like to think that I've studied human nature rather thoroughly. Or at least the interesting parts. Admittedly, much of it continues to be completely alien and doesn't make any sense.”

 

He saw her visibly refuse to follow up on the last point.

 

“I wanted to talk more about this deal you said you'd made with your father.”

 

“To create a new angel for him, yes.”

 

She groped for words for a moment. “Can you tell me how that came about? What did he say?”

 

The feeling of being back there, in the Silver City, swept over him for a moment. Old memories merged with new ones, and there was a bitter tang in his mouth.

 

“He didn't _say_ anything,” Lucifer eventually forced himself to say. “I'd agreed to do anything he wanted, after all, to be whatever he wanted. And so he did this.”

 

“Did what, Lucifer?”

 

Lucifer tilted his head down and waved a hand at his body. “This! I didn't even know it was happening until it was too late, it was already done.”

 

The doctor looked confused and more than a little concerned.

 

“And I now I can feel it, inside me. _Glowing,_ ” Lucifer finished.

 

“And when you say it...”

 

“Yes,” he snapped. “A bloody angel. No, I know you don't believe me – that's getting rather tiresome, by the way. I have no idea what to do with it – it's already affecting my...”

 

“Lucifer?” she prompted, but he just shook his head. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “So you're feeling like you've lost control, like there's a part of yourself that doesn't belong to you?”

 

“Oh, Dad.” He covered his eyes with one hand. “Spare me your extrapolation of what you think I 'actually' mean.”

 

She paused, regrouped. “Alright. Say, for one moment that it was an angel. Why would that be such a bad thing?”

 

“I've already told you!” he said, removing the hand and glaring at her.

 

“Actually you haven't,” she said calmly. “You've told me that it _wouldn't_ be a question of competition – that you don't care. So why are you so upset?”

 

“I don't know,” he said sarcastically. “Because it would have been nice if Dad _asked_. Because the last time I did this was a really fucking long time ago and I was in heaven. Because I don't want any part of that now, and I hate _all_ of them, and my father hasn't even _spoken_ to me since he threw me down to hell but now, what – for his convenience it's suddenly okay to do _this_ to me?” He thumped his chest.

 

The room was silent except for the sound of his quickened breathing. He tugged a hand through his hair. “I don't _know_ ,” he said wretchedly. “I don't know what to do.”

 

She gestured a hand in a _calm down_ kind of way. “I'm hearing a lot of reasons why you're upset, Lucifer, and I'd like you to tell me more about them.”

 

He smiled with a distinct lack of humour. “I'm afraid this is where I get off this train for today.”

 

\-----------------------------

 

“Okay,” Detective Espinoza said when Lucifer joined them at Chloe's desk. Chloe gave Lucifer a small, uncertain smile, possibly uncomfortable with her confidences of the night before. “So we have a lead on a potential boyfriend that the neighbours had seen visiting, follow ups with the same neighbours who were out yesterday but it turns out were home the night of the murder, and we have new info on the murder weapon.”

 

“Okay,” said Chloe. “Let's go over what we've got.”

 

Which wasn't that much. The knife seemed to be the standard kitchen variety, and there was one missing from the knife block. Spontaneous crime of passion, then. The girl in the bedroom, Haley, had indeed been killed first as they'd found tissue with her DNA inside Haley's wounds.

 

The neighbours had seen a wide variety of young people visiting the girls' flat, but suspected that one of them at least was a boyfriend because he seemed to visit frequently.

 

“Handsome?” Lucifer asked the couple, who were sat on their sofa as nervously as if they were facing the inquisition. The question of why they hadn't heard the murder was more than adequately answered by the squalling baby in the background. “Blond? About yay high, and a bit like a young Brad Pitt?” The woman nodded. “Well now,” Lucifer murmured happily. “2A, you have been keeping things from me.”

 

\------------------------------

 

Luckily, Lucifer had kept the phone numbers from the visit to Madison's house, and it turned out to be fortuitous that he hadn't slept with any of them since it now appeared one of them could be a suspect.

 

Luke met him at a small coffee place not far from the dead girl's apartment.

 

“Lucifer.” He reached out and took Lucifer's hand, then pulled him in for a manly back slap. Lucifer winced – some human customs were entirely beyond him.

 

“Nice you see you again. And I'm sure you remember Detective Decker.”

 

She came to join them, and Luke's handsome features were marred by a frown.

 

“What's going on?” he asked.

 

“Why, nothing,” Lucifer said sweetly. “We just wanted to ask you why you were visiting Amy and Haley quite so often – much more than every couple of weeks. The neighbours were convinced you were a boyfriend.” He drew out the last word, and watched for any evidence of guilt.

 

“No, I wasn't seeing either of them!” Defensiveness, but not guilt.

 

“Then why have you been visiting so often, hmm?”

 

“I...” A trapped expression spread over Luke's face. “It's just been recently. They... owed me money, you see. I lent them quite a bit to help them get set up here, I was happy to, really-”

 

“But you needed it back,” the detective filled in. “Why didn't you say any of this before?”

 

He shrugged. “I didn't think it mattered.”

 

“How much money?”

 

“A few thousand. Not enough to kill anyone over,” he interjected quickly.

 

Lucifer tilted his head in interest. “How much money _would_ be enough to kill them over?”

 

“I don't... That's not what I...”

 

“No, of course it wasn't what you meant,” Lucifer said mock-kindly. “Tell me, Luke, what do you want in life? What's your deepest, darkest wish?”

 

“I want to...” Luke paused, eyes going unfocused. “I want to get what I deserve. To have people recognise me the way they should.”

 

“Really now,” purred Lucifer. “And perhaps Amy and Haley didn't give you the respect they should, hmm? Where exactly were you, that night?”

 

The other man gulped. Really, this was too much fun. “I was, uh, crashing with a friend. We watched movies and ate pizza?”

 

“How thrilling.” Lucifer decided that it was too unimaginative to be a lie. “Detective?”

 

“Do you know if either of the sisters was seeing someone, or was involved in any other kind of trouble? Other debts?” she asked.

 

Luke shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe Amy was, but we didn't speak much any more. She'd turned into a bit of a, well, a bitch. You should ask one of the others.”

 

“Martin, is that right? And your sister?”

 

Luke nodded, and Chloe dismissed him.

 

“Well, that was a dead end,” Lucifer said.

 

“True, but we've got some leads to chase, at least. And we'll have to check his alibi.”

 

\---------------------------

 

They found 2B at her work – accountancy apparently, although she did _not_ seem the type – and had a private conference with her in a back office.

 

“Trouble?” she echoed. “I don't think so. I know they'd borrowed off my brother, but I don't think they needed more – and they would have managed to pay him back soon,” she said with confidence. Then, slower, “On the other hand, I was surprised when Amy told me they were getting the money to pay him back, because until then they'd been just about breaking even.”

 

Chloe had been following all of this closely, making notes. “So you were pretty close with them?”

 

“Yeah.” Beth gave a soft smile, a sad one. “We were really close growing up. More me and Haley, really, because we were the same age. But then we started hanging out again more when they moved to the city, and Amy just... really needed a friend.”

 

“Did they have any other close friends? Boyfriends?”

 

Beth gave them a you're-being-blatantly-obvious look. “Amy never said anything. She saw people occasionally, but never long-term, you know? But recently she'd been... I don't know. Weird. And Haley... I don't know. She was pretty private.”

 

“Is there any chance that one of them could have been seeing your friend Martin?” Lucifer asked.

 

“Martin?” Her voice squeaked slightly with surprise. “Uh, I wouldn't have thought so. I mean, he wasn't really either of their type.”

 

“And what was their type?” he pressed, curious.

 

“I don't know. Amy liked smart people – sarcastic ones. Haley would go for anyone with a sob story. Umm, hot? Athletic? But I... I don't know. Now that you mention it, I did get a weird vibe from Martin about Amy. She never mentioned him though.”

 

“Mmm. One more question,” Lucifer said. “What do you really, truly desire?”

 

Her breath hitched. “I wish that this would all just go away and they were still alive. God, I can't believe I saw them only a few days ago. And Haley was... she just wanted to be happy, you know?” Her breathing hitched. “They both just wanted to be happy.”

 

\--------------------------------

 

Leaving the detective trucking through the girls' financial records, and any shady dealings therein, Lucifer took another cab back to Lux and once again called the company detailing his car to find out when he could give up public transport. Not that taxis weren't fascinating in their own way, but he'd stick to his own method of getting around given any choice. One of the finest things about being on Earth, he'd found. That and booze which, admittedly only after an awful lot of it, actually had some effect, and sex which was pure enjoyment and not necessarily mingled with any of the nastier edges one found in the pit.

 

He arranged a few small matters with the staff, sparred verbally with Maze for a few minutes for old times sake, and then headed upstairs to get ready for the evening. Ten minutes later, when he was completely bare-arsed and still damp from his shower, a gust of wind heralded an angelic arrival.

 

“Amenadiel,” he said before he turned around. “I'd say it was a pleasure, but...”

 

“How do you do it?” His brother interrupted. “Stay here, all the time, knowing that you can't go back?”

 

Oh, it was going to be one of _those_ conversations. “I need a drink,” he announced, and strode to the bar.

 

Amenadiel sighed. “Could you put some clothes on? Please?”

 

“It's my home, I can do as I please,” Lucifer smirked. He picked up two glasses and a bottle and moved to the couch. He'd picked the material as being particularly pleasing against naked skin.

 

Amenadiel came and settled on the chair next to him with pure grace.

 

“Seriously though,” the other angel asked again after a moment. “How do you do it?”

 

Lucifer rolled the scotch in his mouth for a moment, enjoying the taste. “You forget, brother, that I've had an eternity to get used to it – indeed what you're currently experiencing is a veritable upgrade from my previous accommodations.”

 

With a snort, Amenadiel reached for the other glass. “As though you couldn't mould that place into anything you desired!”

 

“It was still hell!” Lucifer snapped. “And I was jailer and prisoner both. Burning,” he whispered, almost to himself, and Amenadiel grew quiet.

 

After a moment, Lucifer stirred. “I suppose the answer to your question is to try and find things that make your current situation liveable. Whether it's the little things,” and he toasted with his glass, “or whether it's millennia of sustaining yourself with burning hatred against the injustice of what was done to you.”

 

He downed the rest of his drink, and regarded the empty glass.

 

“What did he say to you, really?” Amenadiel asked after a minute. “Father.”

 

“Mmm? Oh, well, bit hard to translate, and you weren't listening the last time.”

 

Amenadiel frowned. “Perhaps I didn't understand what you told me.” He examined Lucifer closely. “You said that it was divinity, making you glow?”

 

“Yes.” Now it was Lucifer's turn to sigh. “What do you know about the Beginning?”

 

“When our father made everything? He created the universe and the earth, and the sky, and heaven. And all of us.”

 

“Yes,” Lucifer said. “Except there was a rather specific order to it.” He topped his glass up and then set it on the table, pensive. “I've never spoken with any of you about this.”

 

“About what?” Amenadiel stirred. “Lucifer-”

 

“You were always so jealous that I was Father's favourite, that he would turn to me above others. But I wasn't his favourite, I was just _first_. He was used to asking, and me being the one that would answer.”

 

There was quiet now, Amenadiel hushed and listening, even if his face reflected doubt.

 

“The ' _and let there be light_ ' part of the whole thing – that's exactly what happened. God created the earth and the heavens, and then he created _me_.”

 

Lucifer waited, expecting Amenadiel to interrupt. His own voice was suspiciously muted when he started again.

 

“I was not... of this form then. I was everywhere, except for where I wasn't - and that was where the darkness fell. I _shone_ ,” and his voice was full of yearning, and he _loathed_ himself, “and Father and the heavens embraced me.

 

“After a time I... coalesced. Into something like the being you knew me as before. It was Father's will. The light continued, but I became... separate. More. This form, whether his influence or mine, became my new existence.”

 

He paused, and then dryly added, “And he saw that it was good.”

 

“Lucifer-”

 

But Lucifer held up a hand, and his eyes were dark and endless. “To repeat the process of making me was impossible, in as much as anything is impossible for him. And he had plans, now. And so it was-” his voice took on a formal chant “-that he channelled his energy through his first created, that more angels should be created, that divine light should bear new divine light.” He paused, and his mouth twisted. “For each of you there was a spark. A spark that shone, that I nurtured until it was ready. And then-” he made a sudden 'surprise' gesture with his hands. “Congratulations, it's a boy! Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

 

Amenadiel, who had been sitting rapt at the recitation, reared back at the sudden facetious tone.

 

“Lucifer,” he said after a moment. “Is that true?”

 

“Of course it's true, you bloody twit,” Lucifer snarled. “Why on earth would I make up something so utterly stupid.”

 

“Well, you are the Lord of Lies,” Amenadiel said to himself.

 

“Oh yes, and where did that come from? Gabriel, was it? Now there's one who couldn't stomach hard truths.”

 

Refusing to be sidetracked, Amenadiel glanced down at Lucifer's naked body. “And that's what's happening now?” he asked in disbelief.

 

“Bingo,” Lucifer said rather unhappily. “I suppose he thought he'd make the most of the opportunity, since I'm not down in hell any more. Though I confess I'm rather tempted to go back just to see how an angel born in hell would turn out.”

 

Amenadiel stared at him in horror. “You wouldn't!”

 

The lack of answer was answer enough.

 

“No.” Amenadiel stood. “If this is the task he gave you, then you must carry it out. I shall be here, to guard and protect you. Perhaps this is why I cannot return to heaven – because I must help you on this mission.”

 

The statue of self righteousness in front of him was so aggravating that Lucifer reached for his drink, refusing to answer. Only to find the glass plucked out of his hand and held out of reach.

 

“If what you say is true – if you are the conduit for divine-”

 

“I'm not bloody pregnant, Amenadiel!” Lucifer roared, and snatched the glass back, downing it in one for good measure. Which happened far too often around his brother, and was no way to treat good scotch. “And father knew what state I was in before he made the deal – I sincerely doubt a bit of alcohol will make any difference to the bloody holiness of this thing.”

 

“Lucifer-”

 

“ _Enough!_ ” And the glass splintered into a thousand shards in his hands, falling through them to land tinkling on the floor.

 

He coldly brushed his palms against each other.

 

“Believe me,” he said, “when I say that I am _spoiling_ for a fight right now. And you've never been able to best me, brother.”

 

A long moment's consideration, and then Amenadiel nodded and backed off a pace. “I'll be watching, brother.”

 

“Well that's not creepy at all,” Lucifer remarked to the suddenly empty room.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Ever since he'd discovered his little strength problem, he'd been celibate. He'd already broken his car door, the bar, several glasses, and the elevator buttons at Lux; he figured breaking a sexual partner would put somewhat of a damper on things.

 

Between that and the whole angel thing, however, the situation was having somewhat of a detrimental effect on his mood. He spent the drive out to Martin's house in a mixture of aggressive flirting and sarcastic comments on the uselessness of humanity. Finally Chloe reached across and slapped his hand away from where he was fiddling with the radio.

 

“Enough, Lucifer, you're giving me a headache. If you can't behave, then stay quiet.”

 

He pulled a face at her, which felt unsatisfying since she didn't turn to see it, instead checking her side mirror as she changed lanes like a responsible adult.

 

“What's the point, anyway?” he said a minute later, mood switching to gloomy. “You punish one wrong-doer and another ten crop up. It's a never ending cycle – _I_ should know. You'd think there'd be some kind of learning process, but no, you people just keep doing the same _nasty_ things to each other over the centuries.”

 

“Enough with the 'you people,'” she said wearily. “You don't just get to opt out of the human race every time you disagree with it.”

 

“What, the same way that some people suddenly claim their Irish heritage when they're ashamed to be American? Besides, I'm not opting out, I'm from a completely different gene pool. Actually,” he said, the idea suddenly arresting him, “I don't even know if I _have_ genes. Probably not,” he concluded after a moment. “They're so much more... inflexible.”

 

“Lucifer-”

 

“And I can be _very_ flexible,” he said, dropping his voice just so.

 

She smiled involuntarily, then a moment later gave a snort of laughter. He considered defending the honour of his point, but let it go in favour of rolling down the window further and humming, mood suddenly improved.

 

They arrived to find Martin just leaving the house, briefcase in hand.

 

“Martin,” Lucifer cried, as if they were old friends, and swung an arm around him. He received a somewhat befuddled look in return, and Martin pushed his glasses up on his nose with his free hand.

 

“Sorry,” the man said. “I wasn't expecting you?”

 

“That's alright, Martin,” Lucifer said cheerfully. “Martin, Marty, The Mart-ster.”

 

Chloe shot Lucifer a look - as if he was acting very weird or possible high. He cleared his throat, retrieved his arm and adopted a serious mien.

 

“Martin Ledbourn?” Chloe asked. “We had a few follow up questions about the Madison case; we'd appreciate it if you could give us a few minutes of your time.”

 

The man glanced between the two of them, then at his car. His nice, very expensive shiny red car, Lucifer noted approvingly. “I was just on my way to work,” Martin said.

 

“Well we could make it official and ask you to come to the station, but we prefer not to put people through the inconvenience.”

 

Lucifer leaned forward slightly. “We'll be very quick,” he added in a murmur.

 

“Oh,” the man blinked, and then focused on Lucifer's lips. “Alright then.”

 

Chloe gave Lucifer a quick dirty look, but he was puzzled. He could have sworn Martin wasn't the type to be susceptible to his... charms.

 

“Why don't you tell us a bit more about your friendship with our two lovely ladies then, hmm?” he asked.

 

“With Amy and Haley?” They both stared at him in silence for a moment while he caught up with the incredible denseness of his question. “Right, of course. I mean, like I said back at the house, I met up with them sometimes when I went into town, we'd go out and have dinner. I usually paid,” he said, and oh, a slight edge of resentment there, how _interesting_.

 

“Were they having financial troubles?” the detective asked, following the same thread.

 

“Financial troubles? No, why? Oh, you mean is that why she asked me to pay?”

 

“And which she would that be?” Lucifer asked smoothly. Martin looked momentarily trapped, then his eyes flicked to Lucifer's lips again.

 

“Amy,” Martin said finally. “We'd go out. Usually Haley didn't want to come – she was too stuck up. We'd have a good time, and then she'd just expect...”

 

“And what did you expect in return?” Chloe asked.

 

“I thought she liked me,” protested Martin. “But I kept waiting and waiting and... nothing. I could tell she wanted me, but then when I made a move she acted all disgusted.”

 

“Shocking,” Lucifer said, struggling to keep his tone even.

 

“I know, right?”

 

“When was this?” Chloe asked, all business.

 

“Maybe two weeks ago,” Martin said, then quickly added, “But it was nothing! Just a friendly little misunderstanding.”

 

“You weren't going to see her again?”

 

On seeing Martin clam up, Lucifer smiled at him gently. The other man's eyes locked with his, and he looked... hypnotised.

 

“I was going to see her again, to explain, to tell her that we should give it a shot. That I'd be good for her?”

 

“And when was that?” Lucifer murmured.

 

“Tuesday,” Martin said, and then the words seemed to catch up with him and he turned an alarming state of white.

 

“The day of the murder, then?” Chloe said. “What a coincidence.”

 

“Was this the kind of visit where you stabbed her and her sister?” Lucifer said in a friendly voice. “Is that what you really wanted?”

 

“I just...” Martin stared at Lucifer. “I just wanted her to _see_ me.”

 

“But she didn't, did she?”

 

“No,” Martin whispered. “She's just like all the rest.”

 

“All the other women you've murdered?” Lucifer said, getting into the spirit of this. “You naughty boy!”

 

“What?” Martin blinked, and the spell was broken. “No, I mean all the other girls who led me on and then laughed at me. None of them understand. It was alright for the others – they all got away. I'm stuck here, supporting my grandfather who has cancer, and I can't get a date to save my life. Not like Luke and Beth – they have girls lined up round the block – and Amy made it _real_ clear to me when she turned me down that she was getting everything she needed elsewhere.”

 

Chloe focused in on that. “She was seeing someone? Did she say who? Or anything about him?”

 

Martin shook his head wildly. “Oh no. She wouldn't tell me anything. Suddenly it was like we weren't even friends even more.”

 

“Glad she's dead, are you?” Lucifer asked mildly, unable to resist just a little more prodding.

 

“She deserved it,” Martin said, half-hysterical. “That bitch deser-” He broke down crying, and put a hand over his mouth as though to try and cram the words back in. “Oh God, I'm so sorry,” he choked out.

 

“Urg.” Lucifer rolled his eyes and turned to the detective. “Can we go now, my therapist says that I should try and avoid things I find emotionally distressing.”

 

Chloe gave him the evil eye, but dismissed their Mr Ledbourn with a few choice words and a warning not to leave town.

 

“Everyone's very desperate to get away from here, aren't they?” Lucifer said thoughtfully when she rejoined him by the car.

 

She opened her mouth to deliver a no doubt pithy comment, then reconsidered his statement. “Maybe we should find out why?” she said.

 

“How convenient that we're in the neighbourhood – perhaps we should catch up with the girls' parents.”

 

She smiled at him. “My thoughts exactly.”

 

\-----------------------

 

After a brief argument over whether Lucifer should be left in the car – 'I won't ask anything, I won't so much as smile in the wife's direction, I promise!' - they knocked on the door of the house and Mrs Madison let them in.

 

“Ted's at work,” she said, settling them in the living room with coffee and a plate of home-made cookies. “Is there any news?”

 

“We're following up on some leads at the moment,” the detective said reassuringly. “Trying to find out who your daughters spent time with and whether they were having any money problems.”

 

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Mrs Madison protested. “They were good girls, they would never have got in debt. And of course they always knew they were welcome to move back here, any time they wanted to.” She smiled fondly, and only Lucifer's promise kept him from saying that they would probably rather have died rather than move back in with their parents. It would possibly have been an unnecessarily poignant comment, given the circumstances.

 

“I know I asked you this before, Mrs Madison, but sometimes people remember new things, over time. Were you aware of anyone in your daughter's lives that they were very closely involved with, perhaps romantically?”

 

Mrs Madison shook her head mournfully. “No. And I was so looking forward to grandchildren. Haley had never been much for boys, she was always studying too hard, and Amy... well, there were one or two promising young men a few years ago, but no one since then. Of course,” she added painfully, “I know that kids don't tell their parents everything. That wouldn't be 'cool.'”

 

Lucifer winced.

 

“Was there a reason they moved to the city?” Chloe asked casually.

 

“They wanted better jobs, and not to have to spend hours travelling every day.” Mrs Madison proffered the plate of cookies in Lucifer's direction, and he declined with a slight gesture. “We understood, of course, though their father was... disappointed. He'd hoped they'd stay in the neighbourhood, that things could stay the way they'd always been.” She looked around herself with a touch of melodrama and then whispered, “I don't even the girls were even going to church any more.” Then, more primly, “I didn't tell their father.”

 

Lucifer's lips twitched, and he held his laughter back with heroic effort. Really, the detective should be proud of him.

 

“Would they have feared their father's disapproval?” Chloe asked neutrally.

 

“Oh, yes, he's always run a very strict household, and they would never have dared-” Obviously realising how that sounded, she added, “Because they loved him, and wouldn't want to disappoint him.”

 

“Oh, I know how that goes,” Lucifer said, _sotto_ voice.

 

“Did they ever argue with him?” Chloe pushed, sparing Lucifer a quick glance.

 

Mrs Madison became visibly uncomfortable with the line of questioning. “Maybe once or twice – children like to push the boundaries when they grow up, don't they?”

 

“What were the arguments about?”

 

The other woman shrugged nervously. “Oh, you know, going out with their friends. Whether or not they were allowed to do things. Leaving.” Her lower lip trembled.

 

“Oh yes,” Lucifer muttered. “Familiar with that too.”

 

“And since they've left?”

 

“Oh, no,” Mrs Madison said in a rush. “Ted's become quite the new man. They don't argue at all, any more.”

 

At least not in front of her.

 

“And how often _do_ they visit?” Lucifer asked, unable to restrain himself.

 

“Oh, once every few months.” She twitched in a way which suggested this was an untruth. “They're so busy – you know how it is. But it's always lovely when they do visit.”

 

Chloe stood, and Lucifer followed her lead. “Thank you very much, ma'am, we'll let you know as soon as we find anything.”

 

Escaping the living room with at least five more God-bless-you's than Lucifer had ever needed, they were on a clear run for the exit when he reached to push the wooden front door open and put his hand through it instead.

 

He stared down at his wrist for a moment, withdrawing it slowly until his fingertips were back inside the hole.

 

“Lucifer, oh my God! Are you okay?” Chloe grabbed his open hand and turned it over. There was blood on it, and Lucifer numbly clenched it into a fist, feeling several splinters push deeper. “No, don't do that – what happened?”

 

“I'm terribly sorry,” Lucifer said to Mrs Madison, who was standing right behind them. “I'm having some issues with my strength at the moment. Don't worry, I'll pay for everything – I'll get someone sent out right away.”

 

“Do you have a cloth I could borrow?” The detective was asking her, but Lucifer couldn't bear to stay there another second.

 

“I'll be fine,” he said quickly. “Again, so sorry,” and was out the door and up the path before either of them could protest.

 

“Lucifer!” Chloe pulled up alongside him just as he got into the car and shut the door after him. She crossed frustratedly to the other side, hauling the door open and sitting in the driver's seat with ill grace. “Lucifer, let me see your hand.”

 

“It's nothing,” he said. “Barely a scratch.” Probably true, but then aside from fights with other angels he had very few data points when it came to real pain. Being shot, a cut on his hand, stubbing his toe, being shot again... “Somewhat like stubbing your toe,” he added.

 

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “Lucifer, you put your hand straight through the door! It could be broken! We should get you to a hospital!”

 

He flexed his injured hand consideringly, but everything seemed to move in more or less the right way. “See, all fine.”

 

She sighed, and leaned back in her seat. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked. “No, wait, don't say anything, I don't want to know.”

 

Caught out, he closed his mouth and make a zipping motion. She gave him a mock-glare.

 

“Lucifer, you can't just punch things when you get irritated on a case!”

 

“I-”

 

“I can see that this situation raises some memories for you, with your father.” Her voice had softened a little, but now grew harder. “But you can't do things like that!”

 

“I didn't!” he protested, offended. “I wouldn't!”

 

She sighed. “Maybe we need to get you to see a therapist.”

 

“I _am_ seeing a therapist.”

 

“One you're not sleeping with.”

 

“I'm not sleeping with her any more! I even pay her money. Quite a lot, recently, come to mention it.”

 

She pulled out of the drive, and they drove in silence for a few minutes, until she pulled over at a drugstore.

 

“I'm getting some disinfectant,” she said. “And a bandage.”

 

“It's only a couple of cuts, Detective!”

 

She slammed the car door behind her, and he was left alone in the car with his thoughts endlessly circling.

 

Five minutes later she was back, and tapped on the window before making a come-here motion. He sighed tragically, and got out of the car.

 

“I don't know why you're making such a fuss over this,” he grumbled.

 

“Doesn't it hurt?” she asked, examining his hand again and getting out a wipe of some kind.

 

“Pain doesn't really bother m- Ow!” he yelped, and tried to pull his hand away.

 

“Stand still, you big baby,” she murmured. “You'd think no one had ever taken care of you when you got hurt before.”

 

His lips tightened for a moment, but he had a carefree smile on his face by the time she looked up.

 

“I don't get injured often, Detective, and when I do there's always Maze to look after me.” Well, there always had been before. Perhaps not so much, any more.

 

She gave a short laugh. “I can't imagine what your bartender's idea of taking care of someone involves.”

 

Staring down at her gently dabbing at his hand, manipulating it this way and that and then carefully wrapping it in a bandage, Lucifer thought he'd never met quite such a remarkable human. “Showing kindness to the devil,” he murmured.

 

Her eyes darted up to meet his. “Everyone deserves kindness, Lucifer.”

 

He grimaced. “That's not always true, in my experience. But very idealistic of you, Detective, well done.”

 

She shook her head, and discarded the various bits and bobs she'd been using back into the carrier bag.

 

“I'll never understand you, Lucifer,” she said.

 

“Unfortunately, that's probably true.”

 

She had an unusually sweet expression on her face as she looked at him, and for a moment he thought -

 

Her gaze darted behind him and she took a quick, startled breath. “What?” she exclaimed, glancing behind him, reaching out a hand.

 

“What?” he asked, whirling to face the parking lot.

 

“I-”

 

He turned around to find her with her hand hovering just in front of his chest, looking in confusion between him and the car behind him.

 

“What is it?” he asked again.

 

“I just thought I saw...”

 

“Well, what?” He didn't try to control the exasperation in his tone, and the look he received immediately made him feel guilty.

 

“Nothing,” she said unconvincingly. “Trick of the light.”

 

“Oh, of course, nothing,” he said with a slight sneer. Then, struck, “Trick of the light?”

 

He turned back to the car and peered into the window, but all he could see was himself reflected back. Nothing unusual.

 

Reaching behind him, he took the detective's wrist and pulled her forward until she was next to him, ignoring her surprised inhale.

 

“What do you see, Detective?”

 

“I see the two of us.”

 

“And what did you see before?” he asked silkily.

 

“I don't... This is going to sound crazy.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I thought I saw...”

 

He held his breath, his whole body tuned to the promise of her next words.

 

“Light,” she said finally, voice turning self deprecating. “And... feathers. See – crazy!”

 

“Oh no, my dear detective,” he whispered, staring at the two of them reflected in the slightly dirty glass. “Not crazy at all.”

 

\---------------------

 

Lucifer took the wheel for a bit on the way back, both to give the detective a break and also, more importantly, to get his hands on a car again.

 

“A violent man, Mr Madison, do you think?” Lucifer asked.

 

“I'm not sure.” The detective frowned. “Even if he was, I can't see any reason for him to kill them.”

 

“He was also very religious. People do strange things in the name of God, detective,” Lucifer said darkly. “Maybe he found out something he didn't like.”

 

“Maybe,” she said, and called to get an update from the station.

 

Apparently the investigation into the finances had back clean, with no sudden influx of cash that would have helped the sisters pay off Luke. They were, indeed, just getting by.

 

“Maybe Amy just said that to Beth because she was trying to convince Luke they'd have the money soon,” Chloe said to Dan over the phone. Lucifer glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “We think that there may be a possibility the father's involved – it sounds like he was the type to strongly disapprove if they disobeyed.” She listened for a moment. “Uh huh. No. No, I don't think Martin's our guy. He's skeezy, but I don't think he.... No. No, but he did say Amy told him she was involved with someone. Okay. Bye.”

 

“Well, that was a thrilling conversation.”

 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said sweetly. “Did you want to talk to Dan instead?”

 

Lucifer let out a huff which indicated the entirety of his feelings on the matter. “How _is_ our dear Detective Douche nowadays?”

 

Chloe pocketed her phone and looked out of the window. He thought for a minute that she wasn't going to answer.

 

“He was lucky. Really lucky. So was I. The department was so worried about Malcolm turning out to be dirty after all that they were all too happy not to delve too deeply elsewhere.”

 

Lucifer wisely kept his mouth shut.

 

“I haven't really spoken to him since,” Chloe said after another minute. “Not about anything but work. He's been missing time with Trixie, he's been... I don't know. God, I don't know. I mean, yeah, he took the hit about the gun to get you off – which was a big thing, because he _hated_ you – but that doesn't erase all the shit he did before.”

 

“He betrayed you,” Lucifer murmured.

 

“Yes,” Chloe said loudly, as though she'd desperately needed someone to say it. “I mean, I can understand why he did it, but I don't agree with it, and it was-” she gave a tired laugh “-an incredibly shitty thing to do to me. Making me feel like I was all on my own, that I was crazy.”

 

“He should have owned up from the start, taken his punishment like a man.”

 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, but her voice was sad rather than irate. “He should have. But he didn't want to lose his family.”

 

Lucifer gripped the wheel hard for a moment, then eased off. With a sudden, thoughtful look at the dashboard he said, “Actually, detective, I really think you should drive.”

 

\-----------------------------

 

“Doctor,” he greeted Linda as he swung through the door.

 

“Lucifer,” she said evenly. “We don't have an appointment.”

 

“No, but I thought maybe you could squeeze me in, as it were.”

 

She hesitated for a moment, then gestured to the couch.

 

“I've been doing some reading, since we last spoke,” she began once he was seated.

 

“Oh, I can't _wait_ to hear this.”

 

“It's not actually uncommon for people to think that they're carrying a child when they're not. Admittedly somewhat rarer in men,” she added.

 

“Yes, well, your little human syndromes don't apply to me,” he muttered.

 

“Much of the time such a belief comes from the desire for, or fear of, pregnancy,” she continued. “Have you ever felt...” She paused, bolstered herself, carried on. “That you were female, and in the wrong body, Lucifer? That you should be able to bear a child?”

 

He stared at her for a moment, then snorted. “Oh do go on, this is bloody hilarious. Though actually,” he paused as if struck. “I'd love to be a woman. So many interesting bits to play with. But no, sorry darling, one hundred percent male here.”

 

She drew another breath. “Or alternatively, for sympathetic pregnancies, sometimes the cause is rivalry for attention or anxiety about the new child in the family.”

 

The words were left hanging there, obvious bait for him to say, why doctor, you _amaze_ me – I have rivalries with my siblings, am worried about this new little twit, oh, and by the way, I've always wanted to be pregnant!

 

“Lovely,” he said. “Let's move on, shall we.”

 

“Lucifer.” For a moment she closed her eyes and sighed, gathering herself to tackle this. “Last time we spoke, you said some things that... disturbed me.”

 

“Only last time?” he asked flippantly. “I make it my goal to disturb people all the time, Linda, you know that.”

 

“We've never really spoken about your past and your father.”

 

“Oh, I think we really have.”

 

“We haven't spoken about _why_ you wanted to leave, about where your hatred and resentment comes from.” She drew in a deep breath. “We haven't spoken about how he treated you, or your brothers.”

 

He eyed her like a particularly interesting species of beetle that had done something unanticipated. “Riiight?” he drawled.

 

“Lucifer, when we last spoke, you said that your father had... done something to you. Against your will.” He stared at her blankly. “That there was now something inside you which-”

 

“Oh my _God_ , woman, stop right there!” The fascination had turned to horror. “You can't seriously be suggesting that – you know what, never mind!” He held up a hand and flapped it at her. “No. No, and also, no. Even if my father _had_ a physical form, even if sex was something he understood and was interested in... Actually, wait? Where did sex come from? Who was responsible for that? I don't think it was me...” He trailed off and looked thoughtful.

 

“Lucifer,” she said quietly, trying to drag him back on track. “I can understand that you don't want to talk about these things, but this is a safe space – your father can't reach you here. And this fantasy identity you've created to-”

 

He was laughing, almost shaking with it. “My father can't reach me here,” he gasped, and slapped his knee. “Oh, that's a good one, best I've heard in a while.” He wiped away a tear from his eye.

 

“I-”

 

“Look, doctor,” he interrupted, suddenly intense. “You said early on that you were willing to work within my metaphor. Now, if that's the only way your tiny brain can handle it, then that's what I need. None of this fantasy-world rubbish, and trying to work out what 'really happened' when I'm sitting right here telling you. This is the deal, yes or no?”

 

She drew in a breath, starting a quick response and then cutting herself off. After a moment, she said, “I'm not sure it's healthy for me to indulge this any more, especially since it's becoming more extreme. I'm worried that I'm actually making things worse.”

 

“No, you're not,” he said earnestly. “This is helpful! You help me realise when I'm angry and whatnot, and you explain all the detective's weird reactions. It's very helpful!”

 

She looked down. “Lucifer, I-”

 

“I mean, I've just got used to you! And you're even, you know-” he waved a hand “-not as useless as the rest of the human race.”

 

There was a telltale pause, during which she stared at the floor and appeared to be thinking very hard.

 

“Please,” he said, and it was possible that his voice wobbled just the tiniest fraction. “I'm, uh-” He cleared his throat. “A bit not sure what I'm dealing with here, and I confess the only way I've got through it so far is by having you to talk to.” He looked away, and an edge of defensiveness crept into his voice. “There, I've said it. I _need_ you, Doctor.”

 

He stayed tense and alert during the following silence, until finally she let out a long breath.

 

“Lucifer, I don't believe you're the devil.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I believe you're a good man. A somewhat misguided one, but good.”

 

“Mmm,” he said non-committally, and ignored any slight stinging in his eyes.

 

“I... I don't want to stop treating you, but I have to think of doing the right thing for _you_.”

 

“Mmm,” he said again, and my, this felt an awful lot like rejection. “Well, thank you Doctor,” he said, refusing to make eye contact as he got to his feet. “I appreciate all you've done.”

 

“Wait, Lucifer, I-”

 

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

 

“Lucifer!”

 

He slammed the door on his way out, and didn't stop to check whether he'd blown it off it's hinges.

 

\---------------------

 

“You are an _asshole_ ,” Mazikeen greeted him with a punch to the jaw just as he got to the top of the stairs leading up to the penthouse.

 

“Ow,” he said, turning his head to shake off the sting. “Nice to see you too, Maze! Bloody hell.”

 

“You're carrying an angel? _Seriously?_ ” Her voice was angry. Also incredulous, but mainly angry.

 

“I see you two lovebirds are still talking then,” he mumbled disconsolately, and headed towards the bar.

 

“An _angel!_ ”

 

“Well repeating it isn't going to help the situation,” he said sharply, and crossed behind the bar to investigate what he had. Really, he was going through his liquor supply at three times the normal rate, these days.

 

“You hate them! You hate everything about them, or so you always said. You know, in Hell. Where you and I _belong_.”

 

“Yes, I hate all the other stuck up, pompous pricks, Maze, thank you so much for the recap. But as I didn't exactly get a choice about this, I'm sort of stuck with it.”

 

She glared at him, hard, for a long moment, before sitting down at the bar in a smooth motion and propping her elbows on it. “Explain,” she said with finality.

 

For a moment he was tempted to tell her to sod off; to put her in her place for daring to question him. But the urge to speak to someone who actually understood the situation was almost irresistible, as it had been with Amenadiel.

 

He turned, and braced his own arms on the bar.

 

“I made a deal with Dad. Blank check, as it were.” He smiled mirthlessly. “Thought he'd want me to go back down to hell, or do some menial dirty work for him. To promise to behave myself forever, or some-such. Instead I'm...” he groped for the right word. “Conduit-ing.”

 

“An angel,” she said again, as if to make sure.

 

“Well, it's not a puppy, Maze! It never occurred to me this was a possibility, not down here.”

 

“I still don't get how it _is_ a possibility,” she said dubiously. Clearly Lucifer's brother hadn't seen fit to share everything with her. “Or why you would make a deal with your father in the first place! I mean, isn't that everything you've been trying to avoid all these years? Doing his bidding? Owing him anything? Why would you...”

 

She went very still, and her eyes bore into his.

 

“Oh,” she said. “For _her_. You did this for _her_.”

 

“Mazikeen-”

 

“No,” she said, and shook her head, getting to her feet.

 

“Maze, I-”

 

“Enough, Lucifer!” she yelled, slamming her hands down on the bar. “Enough of whatever this weird urge to protect your pet is.”

 

He lunged forward, making a grab for her arm as she started for the exit.

 

“Maze.”

 

His grip on her upper arm was iron, and she didn't fight it. Her gaze stayed firmly fixed in the direction of the elevator.

 

“This needs to end, Lucifer. _You_ , reduced to doing God's will – to doing _this_ ,” she spat, “all because of a human?”

 

He had no answer.

 

“ _She_ needs to end,” Maze said, and this time her meaning was more than clear.

 

“No,” he said immediately, and now she swung around, her eyes fierce and betrayed.

 

“Why not? Give me one good reason!”

 

“You think I haven't thought about it?” he snapped. “You think I didn't spend weeks tracing through all the possibilities? Kill the detective. Let her live. Go down to hell. Do _something_...” he trailed off, and carefully released Maze's arm. “But no, Maze. No. Even if killing her had been the solution, I would have done it _myself_. But it's not. _I_ made this deal; this is happening, and it won't go away whether or not she's alive.”

 

Mazikeen stirred restlessly. “You could do what you said – go down to hell. That would get rid of it.”

 

“Would it? I don't know. What if...” He looked pensive for a moment. “The world doesn't need another devil, and I wouldn't – what kind of hypocrite would I be to inflict that torment on someone else?

 

“And,” he drew a deep breath. “What does it matter? One more angel in the heavens; hardly makes a difference, does it?”

 

“You are so full of shit,” Maze said coldly, and turned away.

 

“Maze-”

 

“Fine, I won't kill her,” she yelled over her shoulder as she left. “At least not yet.”

 

\-----------------------------

 

He felt a sudden need to talk to Linda.

 

He couldn't do that any more.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lucifer?” There was the sound of rustling sheets, and a cut off yawn. “It's one in the morning!”
> 
> “Yes,” he agreed, not particularly understanding why this was relevant. Then, “I'm quite drunk.”

“Detective!”

 

“Lucifer?” There was the sound of rustling sheets, and a cut off yawn. “It's one in the morning!”

 

“Yes,” he agreed, not particularly understanding why this was relevant. Then, “I'm quite drunk.”

 

A muffled, “Oh my God.”

 

“Detective?”

 

“Why are you calling, Lucifer?”

 

“I just-” He paused. Why _was_ he calling her? It had seemed very important a minute ago, he was sure there was something...

 

“Lucifer?”

 

“I've drunk whisky and tequila and gin and... I don't know, some other things. I can't read the labels any more.”

 

“Christ.”

 

“Well that's rude,” Lucifer said, offended. “Here I was, doing you the very drunken courtesy of calling to – oh, _that's_ why I wanted to talk to you!”

 

There was a deep sigh. For a moment he thought she might have fallen back to sleep. “And why's that?”

 

“I promised,” he said, slightly slurred. “And a deal's a deal.”

 

She waited a moment. “What promise?”

 

“To tell you if – wait, have you forgotten already?” His tone rather more injured than he would have liked. “You made me promise to talk to you before I went on a month-long bender. So here I am, officially notifying you. Now I'm going to go get drunk some more.”

 

“Wait.” She sounded slightly more awake. “Lucifer, what happened? What's wrong?”

 

“Oh, absolutely nothing,” he said. Then, compulsively, “That was a lie. I lied. I don't normally do that.”

 

“Shit,” he heard her murmur. “Okay, Lucifer, I'm coming over. Are you at Lux?”

 

“Yes,” he said. “That's where all the booze is.”

 

“Right,” she said, humouring him. “Just, just stay there, okay. I'll be there soon. Thank God it's the weekend,” she muttered, and hung up. He spent a couple of minutes staring at the phone to see if she would start speaking again, and then tossed it carelessly onto the table.

 

\----------------------------

 

“Detective?” he said muzzily when he raised his head at the ding of the elevator and found her striding out of its opening doors. “And... offspring.” Beatrice was slung over Chloe's shoulder somewhat like a sack of potatoes. He took a long drink of... whatever he was holding, not entirely able to rule out the possibility that he'd gone just as crazy as Dr Linda was always saying he was. “What are you doing here?”

 

“You called me,” the detective said, voice terse. “And there was no way I could get a sitter. I need to put her somewhere. Is your bed clean?”

 

Clean of what, he wondered? People, semen, the stain of damnation? Either way, he nodded, and blearily watched her disappear into his bedroom.

 

He turned back to the table and eyed the bottles in front of him with something like betrayal. As far as drunken hallucinations went, this was surely the weirdest...

 

“Hey,” Chloe said, suddenly beside him, and he jerked his head up from where it had fallen back against the couch. He gave her a bemused smile, and then frowned.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

 

“I came to take care of your sorry ass,” she said. Then, quietly, “You sounded really bad on the phone earlier.”

 

“I did?” he asked, lost. “I... don't remember.”

 

“Yeah.” She sighed. Her gaze swept over the table full of bottles, at the few on the floor and the ones lining the bar. “Lucifer-”

 

“Oh, don't you Lucifer me!” he said, putting a hand over his heart. “If anyone's ever had provocation to drink-”

 

“What happened?”

 

And oh, looking at her earnest face, at her caring and her bright little soul which he'd worked so hard to protect...

 

“I don't want to talk about it any more,” he said sadly. “Everyone's horrible.”

 

“Horrible?” she asked. “Lucifer, who's horrible?”

 

He frowned, and tapped his fingers against the glass. “Linda and Maze and my brother,” he answered shortly.

 

“Well,” she said with a deep breath. “Why don't you try me? I promise not to be horrible, if that helps.” She gave him a small smile, as if to encourage him. A nice smile. She was really very nice, his Chloe.

 

“Promise?” he echoed.

 

“Promise.”

 

He stared at his glass for a moment, swirling the liquid in it then taking a drink. Urg, terrible stuff. The glass was set carefully down on the coffee table, and he regarded the detective steadily for a minute.

 

“Uh, Lucifer?” she said, unnerved.

 

“Could you do something for me, Detective?” he asked, suddenly sounding infinitely more sober. She nodded cautiously. “Could you, just for tonight, suspend your disbelief? Accept, if only briefly, that everything I say is true?”

 

She watched him for a moment, then nodded. “I can do that.”

 

Releasing his breath in a long drawn out sigh, he nodded in return. “Good,” he said. “That's good.” It would hurt all the more in the morning, when she went back to her usual scepticism, but...

 

“Dr Linda's broken up with me,” he said abruptly. His eyes sought Chloe's face just in time to see a brief flash of jealousy.

 

“I thought you said you weren't sleeping with her anymore?” the detective said gamely.

 

“Oh, I'm not. I meant that she's refused to keep seeing me. Said she doesn't want to keep feeding my delusions,” he added glumly. “And the thing is...” He stopped, and she waited patiently. “The thing is that I'd got used to talking to her. Being able to tell her things. I'd never really had that before.”

 

Chloe suppressed the urge to say that he told her things she didn't need to know _all_ the time.

 

“And I shouldn't have told Amenadiel, because now he thinks he's on a holy mission to protect me, and he told Maze and now she hates me.” He stopped again, feeling rather sorry for himself.

 

“Lucifer,” she said, trying to untangle any of that. “What happened? What did you tell them?”

 

He rolled his head sideways to look at her, sitting cross-legged on the couch beside him.

 

“I'm... I've got a problem,” he said thickly. “I agreed to do something for my dad without knowing what it was. And now I'm... And Maze and Amenadiel noticed that there was something wrong with me, that I was... I don't feel okay. And I'm _afraid_ ,” he said in a hushed whisper. “Afraid of what's going to happen.”

 

“Lucifer, I... I don't understand. Are you... are you sick?”

 

There was a choked off sound of ironic laughter. “Am I sick? Why yes, that's one way of putting it. And I don't actually know if there's a way out of this one, Detective.”

 

Cold fear gripped her. “What is it?” she asked. “What did the hospital say?”

 

“The hospital?” He blinked, straightening a little. “No, no, nevermind, you're only getting muddled. I'm not sick, not like that.”

 

She let out a harsh breath. “Don't scare me like that.” Although now she wasn't sure if she believed his denial. “So you're in... some kind of trouble?”

 

“I tried telling Linda about it, but she kept-” he made a frustrated gesture “-trying to make the things I said into something else. Something _human_.”

 

She bit her tongue.

 

“And trying to relate them to human issues in this case renders them completely... well, it just doesn't translate, believe me.”

 

“So what _is_ the problem?”

 

He stared at her for a moment, gaze fierce. “I don't want to tell you,” he said, sounding oh so vulnerable. “Is that alright?”

 

A moment's hesitation, then, “Of course it's alright.”

 

“I think that maybe it wasn't the right thing to do,” he said after a moment. “But to say so to you is particularly selfish. Callous, even. And... much as I don't know how to live with the present, I find on reflection that I can't regret the overall bargain.” There was a moment's silence. “I'm glad you're here, Detective,” and there was a weight to the words which made Chloe feel peculiar.

 

“I'm glad I'm here too,” she said, and reached over to gently pat his arm.

 

“I meant – but yes, that too. You're a very kind person, aren't you,” he said thoughtfully. “I've noticed that about you.”

 

She smiled a little self-consciously. “It doesn't take much to be kind.”

 

“Actually it does.” He rolled his head back to look at the ceiling. “Kindness takes awareness of other people's feelings, and the motivation to do something about them. I'm not kind,” he added.

 

She opened her mouth to refute this, then frowned. “I've seen you be kind,” she said. “When you notice. Perhaps it's the awareness part that you need to work on.”

 

“Not much call for that in the devil.” He hummed to himself for a minute, low and resonant. “But I was learning all sorts of new things. Linda was trying to teach me. So that I could be better.”

 

“You don't need to be better, Lucifer,” she said quietly. “You're fine as you are.”

 

“I'm not. Not really. Nothing like being thrown into a burning pit to tell you there's something horribly wrong with you.”

 

She hesitated, then carefully asked, “Why are you so sure it's something you did? Maybe the problem is with your father.”

 

“Well of course it's with my father,” he replied sharply. A moment later he leaned forwards, elbows on his knees and head in hands. “I've always blamed him. Not much for communication though, are you Dad,” he said loudly, with a quick glance up to the ceiling. “But if he's so all knowing, and so bloody perfect, then he couldn't have been wrong, could he?” Lucifer's voice broke slightly. “And if he didn't ever, over all these Millennia, _ever_ feel the need to reach out and make contact, to say _anything,_ if he didn't ever answer me...”

 

There was silence, except for the sound of his uneven breathing, and Chloe edged a little closer and put her arm around his shoulders. The slightest tug, and he tipped towards her like a tree toppling, a bit uncertain of the force of gravity for a moment but then settling into the motion until his head came to rest against her shoulder. He stayed very, very still, and she brought her hand up to gently stroke over his hair.

 

“He hasn't talked to me in all this time,” Lucifer said finally, and his voice was choked and _wrong_. “But now he wants... Well, I guess that shows me.” He laughed, and the laugh was wrong too. “All these years, so stupidly thinking that maybe one day...”

 

“Shh,” she said, and stroked his hair again. He shook slightly, just for the briefest moment, and then wrenched himself away from her and up, to pace up and down the room like a caged tiger.

 

“Lucifer.”

 

“I'm such an _idiot_.”

 

“Lucifer-”

 

“Mommy?”

 

Both of them turned to stare at the darkened doorway to the bedroom, where Trixie stood blinking sleepily.

 

“Oh, baby,” Chloe said, and Lucifer watched as she moved to the doorway to crouch down and hug her child. “Did we wake you up?”

 

“I was thirsty.” She peered round her mother. “Lucifer?”

 

He cleared his throat, and utilised all the powers at his disposal to clear all remaining alcohol from his system. “Hello.”

 

“Why are we here?” she asked curiously.

 

“Lucifer was having a bad day, so we came over to keep him company, kiddo.”

 

“Oh.” She smiled at Lucifer, and he stared back at her, wondering what the appropriate response is. “When I'm sad, Daddy makes me hot chocolate.” She glanced at her mother, and then back at him. “Has Mommy made you hot chocolate?”

 

“I-”

 

“-Was just about to do that, right, Lucifer? Did you want some, Trixie?”

 

And so they all ended up in Lucifer's kitchen, drinking hot chocolate made 'just right' – _“but not as good as Daddy makes it”_ \- and listening to Trixie ramble about the dream she'd been having.

 

“-and then the dinosaur chased me over the giant quilt, but it was also a bouncy castle so I jumped reeeeally high to get away.”

 

“Alright, time for you to go back to bed, I think!”

 

Getting up from her stool, Chloe eyed Lucifer and took a breath.

 

“Time for you to be in bed too, I suspect,” Lucifer inserted quickly. “You've stayed up late enough listening to me already.”

 

“I-”

 

“You two can share, can't you?”

 

“And where will you sleep?”

 

“Oh.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “I might stay here and watch the sun come up. I need to think for a bit.”

 

\-----------------------------

 

Linda Martin was surprised when, not a minute after she arrived at her office in the morning, Amenadiel was suddenly standing to one side of her. She blinked, turned to look at her closed office door, and blinked again.

 

“Doctor,” he greeted her.

 

“Liar,” she returned.

 

He winced. When he didn't seem about to say anything else, she added, “Lucifer has enough problems in his life without you running around trying to manipulate him through me.”

 

“I was worried about him,” he said gravely.

 

She gave a dismissive laugh, and moved behind her desk. “Really? Because from what I've observed of your interactions, concern doesn't top your list of emotions.”

 

“I...” He crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded her seriously. “I _was_ worried. But perhaps in a very different way than I'm worried now.”

 

“Oh, really,” she said carelessly.

 

“Yes,” he said, and his tone of voice made her stop and really look at him. “I'm worried about him now, about his... state of mind. I noticed he was upset when he left here yesterday.”

 

“When he... You've been _watching_ my office?”

 

“I've been watching him,” he said implacably. “He is important, much more so than you could ever understand. I thought that _I_ understood, before, but I was mistaken – God has shown me the error of my ways.”

 

“Look, Amenadiel-”

 

“If he has chosen to confide in you,” and the tall man took a step forward which suddenly made her feel threatened, “then you should feel _honoured_ by that responsibility. If, for whatever reason, he needs these... conversations with you, in order to accept his place in all this, then you must continue your part in them.”

 

“You can't just-”

 

“Do you understand?”

 

“No.” She gave him a fierce glare. “The patient needs to be willing to put in the effort for therapy to be at all effective. It needs to come from _him_. Lucifer needs to make the decision to stop hiding – until then I can't help him. And I certainly won't be browbeaten into it by a brother, who, as far as I can tell, has done nothing but betray him and harm him thus far.”

 

She stood there trembling as Amenadiel looked her over.

 

“Think about what I said,” he said at last. “I'll be watching.”

 

Looking down at her desk, she shuffled her papers to get some measure of composure. “Well that's not creepy at... all?” she muttered, as she glanced up to find him gone, and her papers blowing off the desk.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

Linda's second visitor appeared at lunchtime.

 

“Detective,” she said, looking up with surprise. “What can I... did Lucifer send you?”

 

“Actually, no.” The detective stood awkwardly near the door for a moment, then pointed at the chair. “May I?”

 

“Oh, of course.”

 

Chloe took a seat, and Linda replaced the lid on her Tupperware container.

 

“Sorry to interrupt your lunch,” Chloe said after a moment, and Linda shrugged.

 

“I'm used to all kinds of interruptions.”

 

“Yeah.” Chloe glanced to the side, then laced her hands together in her lap, fidgeting slightly. She was obviously uncomfortable being there.

 

“So what can I do for you, Detective? Is there a case you need my help with?”

 

“No, I...” Chloe gave a tight smile, then brought her hand up to bite at her thumbnail. _Very_ uncomfortable, Linda revised that to. “I talked to Lucifer last night.”

 

“Is that so,” Linda said, carefully neutral.

 

“He called me, drunk, in the middle of the night. He... said some things about his father. He was...” Chloe seemed lost for words. “I've never seen him like that.”

 

“It's good that he confided in you,” Linda said evenly, and the detective's eyes darted up to meet hers.

 

“Actually I think the thing he was most upset about was that he wouldn't be talking to you any more. He really relies on your conversations. He... trusts you.”

 

“Oh, I don't think he does.”

 

“He wouldn't even tell me what the problem was,” Chloe confessed. “He was so-” she gestured. “I don't know. So upset. But he couldn't tell me. He said he'd told you.”

 

Linda snorted. “He told me-” She cut herself off. “Well, not the truth, that's for certain.”

 

“Something to do with him being the devil?” Chloe asked curiously, and for a moment they shared a look of understanding. “Does that... really matter? I mean, over the last few months while he's been seeing you he's been more stable, more reliable, more... _human_. He's been trying to learn to be kind,” she said, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Does it really matter how he does that, if it works?”

 

“Detective. Chloe, I-”

 

“Because I don't think it does,” the other woman persisted. “And I don't think he's ever going to give up on insisting he's _the_ Lucifer. You think I haven't wondered – you think every cop in the station hasn't given me grief over the fact that I'm probably working with a complete nutjob? I can't imagine what someone's past would have to be like for them to... But he won't give it up.” She caught Linda's eye. “You know he won't. I think it would break him if he did.”

 

Linda shifted uncomfortably in her seat, because those words rang true. She'd been following the proscribed path - that a patient must accept reality before any problems could be dealt with - but if the patient was unable to do so and yet able to lead a functional life, wasn't it her duty to help him deal with it as much as he was able? Lucifer had been struggling alone for God knows how long before he'd stumbled into her office, and Chloe was right, he'd really been making progress. There were stumbling blocks, certainly, and frequently he seemed to take absolutely the opposite from their sessions than she wanted him to, but if the alternative was him getting no help at all...?

 

“What if this is just who he is, now?” Chloe said, unknowingly echoing her thoughts. “Doesn't he deserve to be helped, to be listened to, even if his stories sound crazy?”

 

“Yes.” Linda met the detective's gaze more confidently now. “Yes, you're right. He does.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Trust me, there’s not a lot of divine forgiveness going around when it comes to me,” Lucifer said dryly.

“I don't think I've had a long enough weekend,” Lucifer half-groaned to Chloe as he slid into her car outside Lux. The detective was looking a bit tired, but then he couldn't exactly say he was feeling fresh as a daisy, himself. “Are you sure we can't have a day off?”

 

“Maybe you can,” she said, checking over her shoulder and then pulling out. “But I have this little thing called a job. Besides, it's two in the afternoon, Lucifer, you can't possibly still be hungover from Friday. Well, Saturday morning.”

 

“Ah, Saturday,” he said in a tone of reminiscence. “And then, of course, Sunday.”

 

She shot him a quick look before fixing her eyes on the road again. “What?” he asked defensively. “It's Dad's special day, isn't it? And I do _love_ to celebrate it in my own special style.”

 

“I don't believe you,” she muttered, and glanced in the mirror. “The only people I've seen as drunk as you were on Saturday are usually still swearing they'll never drink again a week later!”

 

“A week without alcohol?” he asked in disbelief. “Why would someone do that to themselves?”

 

“I don't know – so that they don't have to think about the resulting hangover?”

 

“Well, there you go then! I don't get hangovers so, ipso facto, there is no reason to ever limit my deep appreciation of alcohol!”

 

“You've never had a hangover?” she asked, incredulous.

 

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. Then, “Well... No, actually, still no. Angelic constitution.”

 

She gave him a half-disgusted glance. “Okay,” she said, switching topics. “We've got Mr Madison in a room at the station, let's see what he has to say.”

 

\----------------------

 

Mr Madison – dear old Ted - didn’t seem nervous when they walked into the interview room. He was tapping his thumb against the table in impatience and half-stood when they entered. “What did you want to see me about?”

 

The detective sat down. Lucifer chose to stay standing behind her, leaning casually against the wall.

 

“Mr Madison, we appreciate you coming in,” the detective said, and the girls' father slowly lowered himself back into his seat. “We had a few follow up questions which-“

 

“Mary said that you’d been round,” Ted interrupted. “Said that you’d been saying things.”

 

“Mr Madison-“

 

“And let me tell you,” he pushed on, “I won’t tolerate interference in my family! You have no right to come in and upset my wife, just because-“

 

“Just because your daughters are dead?” Lucifer queried slyly. “I’d have thought both of you would be glad to help with any information you could?”

 

The man’s face reddened a little. “Of course we want to catch the bastard that did this to our girls. He will be judged. But there’s no need for you to come around asking personal questions which have nothing to do with that.”

 

“What exactly did Mrs Madison tell you we discussed?” the detective asked. “All of our questions were standard procedure.”

 

“Yet you seem awfully defensive,” Lucifer added helpfully.

 

“Well,” the man spluttered. “She said you were asking about the family - about how we treated the girls. Said you were implying…” Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer could see the detective’s carefully blank face. “Well,” Mr Madison said again, after a moment. “Might be she was mistaken.”

 

The detective flicked through the sheets in the folder in front of her. “I understand that some of the questions we have to ask might be distressing, Mr Madison, but it’s important that we do everything thoroughly. I’m sure that you can understand that.”

 

He nodded, and subsided back into his chair.

 

For some minutes, Chloe asked questions about anyone his daughters might have mentioned since moving to the city, but he seemed to have very little knowledge of their current lives, talking only about how he feared that city living might lead them astray; that they'd already started to go wild during college even though then he'd still been there to keep an eye on them.

 

“Would there be anyone we could get in touch with that might know more about who they spent time with – any friends of the family, or old classmates?”

 

He shrugged. “Amy was always so popular at school, and at college, but I don’t really know any of their names. Don’t know that she cared to keep in touch with any of them anyway – they were bad types.”

 

“How so?” the detective asked.

 

“Oh, you know, smoking and the like. She was always trying to sneak out at night to meet them.”

 

“That must have made you angry,” Lucifer said, voice dropping a little. The man gave him a quick glance.

 

“Well, you know - kids,” he said uncomfortably.

 

“Defying your authority like that. As though she didn’t respect you at all.” Ted twitched, and Lucifer smiled inwardly. “Tell me, what does your shrivelled little heart desire? What do you want most in the world?”

 

The man’s face grew strained, and he started to sweat. “Oooh, interesting,” Lucifer cooed. “Go on, tell me, you know you want to. Tell me all about your family.”

 

“I just wanted them to understand,” the man ground out.

 

“Yes?”

 

“They used to be such good girls. But I could see them going wrong.”

 

“I’m sure you could,” murmured Lucifer. “What did you do about it?”

 

“Everything I could,” the man said, suddenly fierce. “But they just kept getting worse. I didn’t want to lose them to the devil!”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lucifer said voice soft but cold. “They might have been better off.”

 

“I had to set them right!”

 

Lucifer took a quick step forward, suddenly looming over the table. “So, you threatened them,” he said silkily. Ted gave a sharp exhale, as though he'd been punched in the gut, and nodded. “Sent them away,” Lucifer continued mercilessly. “ _Punished_  them.”

 

“What?” the man said, blinking and snapping free. “No – I... I wanted them to stay.”

 

“Lucifer,” Chloe said quietly, and when he glanced at her he saw a small frown of concern.

 

“When they left… it broke my wife’s heart. They wouldn’t  _listen_. And now look at them,” Mr Madison finished heavily. “I just want my family back. That’s all I ever wanted.”

 

Lucifer frowned.

 

“When was the last time you saw them?” the detective asked after a moment.

 

“I told you - when they came to visit a month ago. Luke and Beth came over to see them at the same time. The neighbour’s kids,” he added after a moment.

 

“We’ve met,” Lucifer said, a little dryly. “I take it you didn’t think _they_ were the wrong sort.”

 

Mr Madison shook his head. “No, they’ve always been good kids – we’ve known them since Michelle and Peter had them. I think Beth was Haley’s only friend in high school; they used to spend all their time together.”

 

“And Luke?”

 

“He used to help Amy with her homework sometimes, I think. He wasn’t so close with either of them.”

 

The detective hesitated, then, “Did you ever get the impression either of them was threatened by anyone else in the area? That they might have had a reason to try and leave?”

 

His face went tight. “No. They would have told us.”

 

She nodded, and closed the interview.

 

Afterwards, as they stood outside, she laid a brief hand on Lucifer's arm. “You okay?” she asked.

 

“What? Yes, fine,” he said, brushing her question aside.

 

“Because you kind of scared me for a moment there.”

 

His eyes flew back to meet hers, and he felt an unexpected flash of guilt settle heavy in his chest. “Scared you?” he said.

 

“You got a bit…” she made a broad gesture, “intense for a minute there.” She hesitated for a moment. “When you were talking about him sending them away.” Her eyes searched his. “Which we know he didn’t – his wife already told us that was the last thing he wanted.”

 

“Yes,” he said briskly. “Yes, of course. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

 

“Lucifer… If this case is becoming too personal for you – if it’s too close to whatever the problem is with your father at the moment…”

 

“Not at all, Detective. I may have gotten… carried away for a moment, but believe me that this case has no bearing on my current… situation.”

 

“Okay,” she said, a little uncertainly. Then, “You can talk to me anytime, you know – you don’t have to get totally drunk first. And, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you did. Talk to me, that is.”

 

“Even in the wee hours of the morning?” he asked, but there was vulnerability under his amused tone.

 

“Even then,” she said sincerely.

 

He cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward. Maybe this was one of those ‘moments’ Dr Linda had always been on about. “Well, this has been lovely,” he said. “What’s next?”

 

She looked to the side, brows drawing in concentration. “I’m not sure. Let’s go everything again.”

 

\-------------------------------

 

His chest had been aching all day; a dull, thrumming feeling which kept distracting him at odd moments. It was… he had no frame of reference for it. Had the same thing happened before, all those millennia ago? He couldn’t remember. What did it mean?

 

He caught himself rubbing at his chest. And again. Waited to feel angry – at his father, at anything, but instead felt a kind of hollow sadness. The detective noticed his melancholy, but he deflected her concern and said he’d better be heading off, told her he had plans that evening.

 

Hopped in a cab, told the driver to drive around the city for a while. A talkative chap, apparently, because he kept trying to tell Lucifer about his favourite places in the city, tell him about his family, ask Lucifer what brought him to LA. Lucifer closed his eyes and let the words wash over him, watching the passing bright stripes of street lights filter through his eyelids.

 

“And this is my local church,” the taxi driver said. “Been coming here since I was a kid. It almost got demolished a few years ago, but-“

 

“Stop,” Lucifer said. His eyes flew open, and he pulled himself up from his loose-limbed sprawl. “Stop the car!”

 

Because  _this_  was what he needed – this would bring the anger back. He slammed the car door behind him, having tossed a couple of fifties at the driver’s head, and strode up the path with more and more certainty building in every step. The building looming in front of him was nondescript – not one of the more beautiful monuments to his father he’d seen, but not one of those hideous modern things either.

 

House of God, indeed.

 

Lucifer blew the doors off their hinges with the slightest touch of his fingers, sent several pews slamming into each other and the wall with a flick of his hand.

 

“Dad,” he yelled, storming up the centre of the dimly lit church. “I know you can hear me!”

 

All the way up to the altar, settling his hands upon it and trying to decide between crushing it or setting it on fire. Not that his father would care – as if such things mattered to him. As though he would view this as anything other than the devil having a tantrum.

 

“Urgh!” he shouted, and turned away. “I despise you!” he yelled at the ceiling.

 

There was only silence in return. Then, “You seem very angry,” a voice said mildly, and Lucifer whirled to see a man coming forward from the shadows at the side.

 

“My Father’s a bloody bastard,” Lucifer said bitterly, breaths still coming fast. “Why wouldn’t I be angry? Not that he ever listens,” he shouted upwards again.

 

“Do you think he’s more likely to hear you if you shout?” the priest asked.

 

Lucifer deflated like a pierced balloon.

 

“I don’t know – which is worse?” he asked after a moment. “If he can hear me but ignores me, or if he isn’t listening at all?”

 

“I think we’ve all asked ourselves that at some point,” the priest said. Lucifer raised a sardonic eyebrow. “What, you don’t think that everyone who chooses this path-“ and the priest fingered his collar “-doesn’t have to ask themselves some tough questions?”

 

“Thought your lot were all about blind faith,” Lucifer said snidely. The man smiled.

 

“Faith, yes. And it often feels blind. But faith without questioning it - without thinking about it and making the decision over and over to believe – well, that’s not really faith at all.”

 

Lucifer actually considered this for a moment, his fists unclenching and hands falling to his sides. “I’ve had recent proof,” he said after a minute, “that not all priests are complete imbeciles.”

 

The priest tipped his head to one side. “I'll take that as a compliment,” he said. “I'm Father Michael.” Lucifer made no response. “Clearly you believe very strongly,” the priest said. “Or you wouldn’t be so angry at God.”

 

Lucifer snorted. “I don’t believe,” he said. “I bloody  _know_. And of course I’m angry – who does he think he is, ordering everyone’s lives around, imposing his will and being a bloody arse?”

 

“He’s God,” the priest said peaceably.

 

“I know,” Lucifer roared. Forcibly calmed himself, tossed a glance at the ceiling and muttered, “Damn you.”

 

The priest – and really he was far too attractive to be a priest, Lucifer thought; all curly black hair peppered with grey and beautiful dark eyes – contemplated him for a movement and then gestured to the front pew. “Have a seat,” he said.

 

“I don’t want to,” Lucifer said churlishly, but then he sat down anyway. A cold wind blew through the church, and he cast a glance over his shoulder to see the wide open doorway with doors hanging askew on their hinges like a child’s gapped teeth. “Sorry about that,” he added, and turned back just as Father Michael lowered himself to the bench beside him.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” the priest said. “Happens all the time.”

 

Lucifer snorted. “Pull the other one.”

 

“Well, maybe not.” The other man smiled briefly. “Like I said, you seemed angry.”

 

A long drawn out sigh, and Lucifer shifted on the hard wood. “You sound like my therapist. Well, ex-therapist.”

 

“There’s a lot of call for listening to people in this job.”

 

“What, your tawdry little confession chambers?” Lucifer glanced across to the other side of the church. “I’ve never understood that. Ten Hail Mary’s and all is forgiven – not it’s not! It’s just to make people feel better about their sins, which just makes them sin more. I find it hilarious, don’t get me wrong, but it certainly isn’t getting them in good with the old boy up there.”

 

“Perhaps you’re right,” the priest said after a moment. “Maybe it's more about forgiving ourselves. But we need to do that in order to carry on, and, as they say, to err is human…”

 

“Trust me, there’s not a lot of divine forgiveness going around when it comes to me,” Lucifer said dryly.

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

Lucifer glanced up again. “Well, let’s just saw I had irrefutable evidence of his disfavour a long time ago, and he hasn’t given any indication of his opinion altering since then.”

 

“How would you know?”

 

“Well, he’d say something, wouldn’t he? Send a bloody great sign.”

 

Father Michael sighed. “It’s easy to want something which we can easily identify, something we can point to and say ‘Okay, this is it. Proof!’ When I was a boy I used to put a ball on the table and say ‘Right, God, if you exist, make the ball roll off the table.” Lucifer looked at him in mild interest. “It never did,” he confessed. “But sometimes the signs we’re looking for come in our interactions with other people, with our own feelings or the things we do every day. What would it take for you to believe that our Father has forgiven you?”

 

Lucifer snorted. “I don’t know, a heavenly choir,” he said whimsically. “Mana falling from the sky. A gift from heaven, that’s what it would-“ He stopped mid-sentence, and abruptly went very quiet.

 

The priest sat with him, apparently content to wait in silence as he processed his thoughts.

 

“It can’t be,” he eventually said, voice taut.

 

“Can’t be what?”

 

“This,” Lucifer said, and rubbed his knuckles over his chest. “This couldn’t possibly be a sign that he… No.” He shook his head, almost wildly.

 

“Is it so hard to believe that you could be forgiven?”

 

“Yes,” Lucifer said harshly. Then, “No – I shouldn’t _have_ to be forgiven. Not when he was, when he…” He trailed off, breathing becoming uneven.

 

The priest watched him carefully for a moment, then said, “We all rebel against God at one time or another. The same as with our parents, growing up.” Lucifer let out a choked laugh. “It’s easy to feel that we’re justified; that they don’t understand us, or our circumstances. But we have to remember that they love us, and they’re trying to do what’s best for us, even if we can’t see it at the time.”

 

“Oh, don’t tell me,” Lucifer said, voice thick and condemning. “God has a plan.”

 

Another long pause. “Why do you want to believe that he doesn’t?”

 

“I don't.” As he’d said once before, to Father Frank, he just wasn’t sure he  _liked_  the plan. Or that his Father knew where the hell it was going. “I just don’t understand,” he said after a moment, and got to his feet. He took a step towards the front of the church, then another, as though pulled by an almost magnetic force. “How can this possibly be – how…?”

 

His hands balled into fists again, nails pressing into his palms. “I thought you were just using me,” he said to the empty air. “But is that what this is? A sign? How can it be? How can I...?”

 

He waited, but there was no reply.

 

Father Michael had heard a lot of lost souls in his time there. At the despair in this man’s voice, he rather thought that category applied here, too. He sat there, quiet company, whilst the strange man in the expensive suit stared up into the heavens, and for a few brief moments he thought he saw the brilliant outline of a pair of wings emerging from his back.

 

\------------------------------

 

“Oh, this is just perfect,” Lucifer said, returning to Lux to find Linda sitting at the bar on the main floor. With a swift about-face, he turned to the elevator at the back of the room instead, but-

 

“Lucifer!”

 

He paused, plastered a smile on his face and turned. “Doctor!” he said. “Didn’t see you there – how are you? Good? Good. I must be going; dear me, look at the time!”

 

“Lucifer.” She waited until he turned fully back towards her. “I came to apologise. Could we talk?”

 

“I’m really very busy. As I’m sure you are – far too busy to deal with any  _delusional_  patients today!”

 

“I came here to see you,” she said, voice calm. “As a friend. So I have plenty of time.”

 

“As a _friend_ ,” he said, voice changing to sudden cruel delight. “Oh, dear Linda, we’ve never been _friends_. First we were fucking, then you subjected me to your extremely suspect version of therapy. Bit much for you to handle though, wasn’t I, Linda? Your phony degree didn’t help when it came to dealing with anything outside of the usual two-bit divorces.”

 

“You’re lashing out,” she said carefully. “I understand. Can we talk?”

 

He stared at her for a long moment, sharpness and hurt rising in his chest. “No,” he said finally, and turned away again. The whole way to the stairs he was waiting for her to call him back, waiting for her to apologise, to beg him for forgiveness. For her to follow him.

 

It didn’t happen. He refused to look back, refused to see what she was doing. Made it up to the penthouse and poured himself a drink before hurling it against the wall.

 

The liquid puddled on the floor, trickling slowly off to one side, and the shards of glass glittered brightly.

 

He went back down.

 

She was still sitting at the bar, nursing a long fruity drink and staring at the bottles lined up behind the bar as he pulled up beside her.

 

“Why are you here?” he asked. “And trust me, I’ll know if you lie.”

 

She swivelled on her stool until she was facing him, crossing her legs. “I suppose,” she said slowly, feeling the words out, “I lost confidence. Because I thought how on earth could I treat you when I didn’t know what the actual problems were?”

 

His face tightened.

 

“Yes,” she said, as though he’d actually said something. “To you these problems _are_ real.” She sighed. “Or as close as you’ll get to being able to express them. And it was wrong of me to say that therapy can’t help you. If this is the only way you can talk about what’s happened to you – about what  _is_ happening to you – then we can make it work.”  

 

He stared at her for a moment. “Well, that’s very noble of you, doctor,” he said at last. “But I no longer need your services. I’ve – I've found someone else to talk to,” he added, suddenly inspired.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes,” Lucifer said. “He’s got excellent qualifications at listening, and saying things which sound deep but are actually meaningless. He sets my bullshit detector off in exactly the same way you do.”

 

“Well,” she said, trying to regroup, “I’m glad you’ve found another therapist, if that’s what you want to do.”

 

“He’s a friend of my Father, of course,” Lucifer muttered, almost to himself, “but I suppose you can’t have everything.”

 

Linda’s expression shifted rapidly to alarm. “Lucifer, I think it’s very important that you receive counselling from a neutral party – not with someone who is involved with your father.”

 

He blinked. “Well, it’s not ideal,” he started.

 

“This is really important,” she insisted. “With the feelings you have towards your father, and his abandonment and manipulation – I’m just worried that anyone associated with him might not be able to let you express yourself, or might try and manipulate you themselves.”

 

He stared at her, mouth open.

 

“If you want to see another therapist,” she continued a moment later, “I can recommend some excellent colleagues. People who I know would…” she trailed off, realising that they would have exactly the same problems with Lucifer that she did.

 

His expression was still stuck on marvelling, however. “You’re worried that your replacement isn’t _good_ enough for me,” he said.

 

“That’s not exactly-“

 

“And you think my Father’s an arsehole!”

 

She hesitated. “I think that you need to remain clear of his influence, that he’s harmful to you, yes.”

 

“Why?” His face shifted to become serious. “I could be lying, after all, when I talk about dear old Dad. What makes you believe me? Perhaps he’s as wonderful as everyone else says he is.”

 

“I don’t  _know_ your father,” she said carefully. “But Lucifer - I don’t think you could fake that kind of raw emotion. Everything I know is consistent with some kind of deep trauma in your past, and the resentment you have towards your father because of it.” He stared at her, eyes wide and jaw tense. “Do I know if your father is as bad as you say? No - maybe there’s been a misunderstanding. But I do know that I don’t doubt how you  _feel._ ”

 

“How I feel?” he said after a moment, voice hoarse. “How the bloody hell would you know how I feel?  _I_  don’t know how I feel!”

 

She drew back, scanned his face. “Betrayed,” she said with certainty. “Angry. Sad. Lonely. And-“ she hesitated for a moment. “You long for the way things used to be, I think. No matter how much you say you hated it.”

 

He felt frozen, twisted by the emotions rising in his gut.

 

“It’s alright, Lucifer,” she said a minute later, while he stood there feeling a bit like he was facing a firing line. “It’s alright to feel the way you feel. That’s what makes you human.” He gave a choked off laugh. “But I don’t think you want to go on being so affected by your past – I think you want to move forwards. And that’s what we’re trying to do.”

 

His eyes caught on hers at that, mouth tightening into a grimace. “What we  _were_ trying to do, you mean?”

 

There was a slight pause. “Did you feel abandoned, when you thought I wouldn’t see you any more? Rejected?” His face twisted into a sneer, and she saw him gear up for a scathing remark. “Because I can understand why you would. I know that, despite my intention to do what I thought was best for you, it hurt you.”

 

He crossed his arms in front of him, and looked to the side with a snort. “You? Hurt me? I’m invulnerable, remember.”

 

“I meant emotionally, rather than physically. You admitted to needing me, and I-“ She cut off as he took a quick, looming step forward.

 

“I don’t _need_ anyone, doctor, and certainly not you. I got along just fine by myself for thousands of years-“

 

“Did you?” she interrupted. “Because from what you’ve said it doesn’t seem like you were particularly happy.”

 

“Happy?” he said scornfully. “Of course I wasn’t happy. Life’s not about being  _happy_ , doctor.”

 

“Isn’t it?” She left the question hanging there, and watched his face contort as he struggled to settle on a response. “Isn’t that what everyone is looking for, in the end? Happiness?”

 

“Well, are  _you_  happy?” he asked bitingly.

 

“Sometimes,” she said honestly. “But sometimes I’m not. At least most of the time I know why I’m not, and I can try and work on it.”

 

All the anger seemed to drain out of him; he leaned against the bar and started to drum his fingers on it.

 

“Have you ever been happy, Lucifer?”

 

“Well I….” He trailed off, and appeared deep in thought for a minute. “I don’t know. Yes.”

 

“And when is that? What causes it?”

 

He shifted, and after a moment a grin stole onto his face, masking the expression that had been there before. “Well, I think  _you’d_  remember. I find that there’s something incredibly glorious about making someone-“

 

The tone of his voice let her know exactly where he was going. “Sex,” she summarised. “And why does sex make you happy?”

 

He blinked, taken aback that she would even have to ask such a question. “Because it feels good, doctor. For all parties, one rather hopes,” he added archly. “And while one is…  _immersed_ , so to speak, there’s nothing but the moment. No pesky thoughts about the rest of existence.”

 

“That sounds like distracting yourself,” she said. “Not being happy. Happiness should come from within - from being content and joyous at your situation. Is there nothing that makes you feel like that?”

 

Momentarily his thoughts betrayed him, and he said, “Well, the detec-“ before they caught up and his mouth clammed shut.

 

Her lips quirked. “Ah, Chloe,” she said. “The connection you have with her is very special to you, isn’t it?”

 

He glared at her.

 

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” she added. “But surely it’s useful for you to realise what makes you happy?”

 

“Yes, thank you for your pedestrian little analysis,” he said sharply, then looked around at the pulsing lights of the club. “Luckily, we’re not at your office, so I don’t have to pay for it!”

 

“I’m not here as your therapist, Lucifer, I’m here as your-“

 

“Well, it bloody well sounds like you are!” he snapped, and she paused.

 

“You’re right,” she said after a moment. “It’s easy to fall into. And,” she persisted a moment later, “I suppose I wanted to show you that I was still here for you.”

 

He eyed her mistrustfully. “Why on earth do you want me to come back, anyway? I mean, I know I’m fascinating, but you don’t seem to appreciate that. At least, not since you stopped sleeping with me.”

 

“I-“ She stopped, considered. “All therapists care about the well-being of their patients, Lucifer; it’s part of what we do. No matter how neutral we try and remain, to some degree we always feel involved in their lives.”

 

“So, you want to keep seeing me because you  _care_?” he said, sarcasm bleeding through. 

 

“Yes,” she said simply, and his face went blank. “I tried to push you before, hoping that we could make a change that I thought would help you. But I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” If anything, his face became even more remote. “I'd like to continue working with you, if that’s something you’d want?”

 

A minute passed, and then he cleared his throat and looked away. “Why, Doctor,” he said, “don’t beg, it’s just embarrassing.” But his smile was tight and awkward rather than flirty, and he found it hard to meet her eyes.

 

“Think about it,” she said. “I meant what I said before though – about seeing your father’s friend? You really-“

 

“A priest,” he said tiredly. “I had a conversation with a priest. That’s what I meant.”

 

She paused mid-speech, mouth open. Then, “Oh,” and looked down briefly as she adjusted her thoughts.

 

“Goodnight, Doctor,” he said, and left her standing there.

 

She turned to the bartender and tapped her mostly-full glass. “I’ll have another one of these, thanks. A large one.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because no Lucifer fic is complete without a random conversation with a priest.
> 
> Also, I may have lost my Lucifer voice. If found, please return here!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is plot

“They found the murder weapon,” Detective Decker said without foreplay as Lucifer picked up. “Can you meet me at the lab?”

 

“Well, I had two orgies pencilled in for this morning, but I suppose they can wait.” He heard her snort in disbelief on the other end of the line. “Or I could just bring everyone with me…” Lucifer said, leaving it hanging.

 

“No!” she said quickly, obviously unwilling to take the risk that he wasn’t joking.

 

He smiled to himself, and took a sip of coffee from his mug. “You disappoint me, detective.”

 

He was about to add a comment about requiring compensation, but she managed to add “I’ll see you there,” and hang up before he could think of something pithy enough. He frowned at the blank screen on his phone, and blamed his distraction on Doctor Linda’s little heart to heart last night – how was a devil supposed to brush off that sort of sickening level of  _understanding_  and  _feelings?_

 

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with Linda now. She obviously expected him to go crawling right back to her, but, despite being tricked into spilling more than he’d meant to the night before, Lucifer had absolutely no intention of doing so. Fooling the devil once was more than enough to earn an eternity of punitive silence. And all that nonsense about caring was blatantly untrue – she was the one who had turned him aside, after all!

 

Still brooding, he finished getting ready and hailed a cab. He was getting quite used to the mode of transportation; indeed, he was almost fond of it now. His car might be back in working condition, but he’d broken another door handle in the building only that morning, so driving was still off the menu. Taxis though, taxis were strangely interesting. He could do without the occasional life stories the drivers seemed to feel the need to share, or the condescending remarks when they assumed he was an out of towner, but the way they  _drove_. Almost as daring as the devil himself; he thought he’d picked up a few tricks from them.

 

“Well hello,” he purred as he swung through the door to the forensics lab only to come face to face with an adorable male lab tech wearing very tight trousers and with hair which, despite looking like bed-head, had undoubtedly taken hours of styling. Humans.

 

“Lucifer,” Detective Decker said, coming in behind him. “Hey Dan.”

 

Espinoza nodded from the other side of the lab, where he was leaning against one of the benches.

 

Chloe turned back to the forensic tech, all business. “Right, so, what do you have for us?”

 

“Okay, so it’s a standard kitchen knife; matches the one that would be missing from the set in the victims’ kitchen. Someone wiped it off, but not very thoroughly; we found blood and tissue caught in the serrations that matches both victims.”

 

Lucifer considered the knife in its plastic evidence bag. “It’s very small,” he said doubtfully.

 

“Trust me,” Detective Espinoza said dryly. “A few inches is more than enough.”

 

Lucifer’s smile turned blinding. “ _Is it?_ ” he asked, in a horribly bright tone. “Because I think you’ll find that a few  _more_  inches would get you to your target much more-“

 

“Enough,” said Chloe, rolling her eyes. “I’m assuming the knife matches the wounds?” The tech nodded, and she turned to Lucifer. “Then it’s the murder weapon – and yes, a few inches  _will_ reach most of the major organs, so knock it off, Lucifer.”

 

He widened his eyes mock-contritely, then grinned wickedly at Dan behind her back. Detective Douche didn’t deign to do more than mimicking his ex’s eye roll.

 

“Where was our diminutive weapon found?” Lucifer asked, and transferred his smile to the lab tech. Said tech gulped, and his eyes glazed over slightly as he smiled foolishly at Lucifer in return.

 

There was silence for several seconds, and then Chloe cleared her throat. “Benson?” she said, and the man blinked rapidly before looking over at her dazedly.

 

“Yes?” he said, then, “Oh! It was in a trash can in Wildwood Canyon. It only gets emptied every few days - the blade had pierced the bag and almost cut the guy. We’d put out a call with all the city’s garbage workers, so he reported it.”

 

“Anything else interesting in there?” Chloe asked, and Benson shook his head. “Okay, so, what else?”

 

“Well, we’ve got some prints off it – mostly partials.” He directed them towards a nearby screen, and brought up several sets of fingerprints. “We’ve eliminated the fingerprints of Amy and Haley,” he pointed at two of the fingerprints, “leaving us with a few others.”

 

“Oooh, multiple murderers,” Lucifer said interestedly.

 

“Or, you know, anyone that ever went to their apartment and helped chop up a salad,” Dan said.

 

Lucifer huffed. “Spoilsport.”

 

“Most of these are good enough that we’d be able to get at least a partial match, so if you get me some prints to compare these to, I can let you know.”

 

Lucifer sidled up to the sweet little tech. “I want you to know that you’re being  _very_ helpful,” he murmured in a low voice, and then yelped as Chloe grabbed his arm and towed him from the room.

 

“No playing with the forensics team,” she said firmly, and to be honest he was too tired to offer up more than a token protest.

 

\--------------------

 

“So far, we lack a real motive,” said Chloe, as they stood outside the interview room. They’d just finished a few diversionary ‘follow up’ questions with Mr and Mrs Madison, during which the couple were offered glasses of water that had then been whisked away for fingerprinting. “It could have been anyone. We don’t seem to be having much luck identifying any other friends that they spent much time with, though, and the boyfriend angle still seems to be a dead end.”

 

Luke, Beth and Martin were shown past them into the room, the detective assuring them they’d be in with them in a moment before she continued. “And you were right, it’s unlikely to have been a stranger, since Amy was in her nightwear and the killer had to get through to the bedroom to kill Haley first. Unless Haley was running away – into the bedroom? No, it was definitely someone they knew.” She sighed. “Alright then, maybe we’ll get some new clues here.”

 

Once inside, the detective led with that angle.

 

“We think it’s likely that the killer was someone that Amy and Haley might have known – that they would have invited in. I know that we’ve asked this before, but can any of you remember any names of other people they spent time with?”

 

All three of them shook their heads. After a moment, Luke spoke up. “I think they had some difficulties adjusting to the city. They knew people, but mainly through work, and no one they spent that much time with.”

 

Beth nodded her agreement.

 

“Martin?” Chloe prompted.

 

He shrugged. “Just what I told you before. That I think there was someone Amy was seeing. I don’t know anything else, though.”

 

The other two had turned to look at Martin as he spoke. “Did either of you know about this boyfriend?” Detective Decker asked them.

 

“No,” Luke said. “But like I said, we weren’t super close. Beth?”

 

She shook her head. “Amy had been busy lately, but I don’t know with what. I’d assumed it was work or the gym or something.”

 

“Maybe she met someone at the gym?” Luke said.

 

“More likely at work,” Beth disagreed. “I think she mentioned there was someone she liked there.”

 

“You didn’t mention that before,” Chloe said.  

 

They’d checked out Amy and Haley’s workplaces – they’d only been working there for 3 weeks and a month, respectively. Their bosses and co-workers said they seemed nice enough, but didn’t know them very well, and their stories seemed consistent.

 

“Might be worth checking again,” the detective said to Lucifer, once the three of them had been shown out.

 

“Mmm,” he said, only half paying attention.

 

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s up with you today – you’re half in another world?”

 

He gave her a sharp look, but decided after a moment that she meant it figuratively. “Headache,” he said shortly, after a moment.

 

She laughed, her ponytail swinging with the motion. “I wouldn’t have thought the devil got headaches,” she teased lightly.

 

“No. Besides metaphorical ones, at least. Perhaps it isn’t a headache.” He catalogued his body. “More just a general ache, really.”

 

Her smile had faded into a look of concern. “Lucifer are you –“

 

“Which isn’t surprising,” he said, “when humans keep yammering at me all the time. Really, how is anyone supposed to function when you’re all so-“ he flapped a hand “- _pestering_ ,” he finished weakly.

 

She frowned. “Did something happen?”

 

“What? No, nothing happened, detective.” Then, not a second later, “Why she would think she can just turn up and tell me she’ll see me after all and have me just accept it like a whipped little boy is beyond me!”

 

“Oookay.” She eyed him for a moment. “Wait, is this about your therapist?”

 

“Yes,” he said loudly, glad that she understood. “She turns up and suddenly it’s all  _she cares_  and she’s concerned another therapist  _wouldn’t be good enough for me_  and am I  _happy_?” His voice dropped in scorn at the last.

 

Chloe hesitated, looking both ways down the corridor. Luckily, she didn’t think anyone was near enough to overhear their conversation – not that Lucifer seemed to care. “Lucifer-“

 

“I mean, what does she expect?” he said sarcastically. “ _Oh, thank you doctor!_ I’m so grateful you’ve decided to condescend to see me after all. You’re so right about everything! When of course she bloody isn’t,” he muttered to himself.

 

“I’m confused,” Chloe said. “Didn’t you want to keep seeing her?”

 

“No,” he said harshly. Then fidgeted. “Maybe.”

 

“So, what’s the problem?”

 

He glared at her. “The  _problem_  is you humans are so fickle you change your minds at the drop of a hat! She’ll just change it again in a couple of days, so what’s the point?”

 

“Oh,” she said, in a tone of revelation. “You’re worried she’s going to hurt you again.”

 

“Hurt me?” he blustered. “Nonsense. As if she could-“

 

“Sometimes you just have to take the risk,” she said, and leaned over to bump shoulders with him. “Otherwise you’ll never get what you want.”

 

Watching the detective's back as she started to walk away, Lucifer muttered, “Now  _you_  sound like Linda. Bloody hell, everyone sounds like my therapist.  _Ex_ -therapist,” he emphasized to the empty air, and then trotted after her.

 

\------------------

 

 

Detective Douche headed to Amy’s workplace, and Chloe and Lucifer went to the gym they’d found a subscription to on her credit card.

 

“Amy Madison?” the girl at the front desk said, entering the name into the computer. “I don’t know, I’m really bad at remembering – oh, wait, yeah, I remember her!”

 

Lucifer leaned over the desk to see the small picture of Amy up on the screen, along with various membership details.

 

“She used to come in almost every day,” the receptionist said helpfully. “Usually in the evenings.”

 

“Do you know if she knew any of the other members?” the detective asked, and the girl frowned.

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“Did she ever meet anyone here?” Lucifer clarified.

 

“Work out with the same group of friends or anything?” Chloe added.

 

The puzzled frown stayed. “I wouldn’t know, I’m afraid – I usually stay out here. She used to come with her girlfriend sometimes, though,” she added helpfully, and Lucifer turned to her like a shark scenting blood.

 

“ _Did_ she now?” he asked. “And who would that have been?”

 

The receptionist shrugged. “I don’t know, she signed her in as a guest. I just remember because, well, too much PDA, if you know what I mean. She was cute though – the girlfriend.”

 

“Was she?” Lucifer purred. “Blonde, by any chance? About 5’6? Looks a bit like she could run a marathon and take part in a fashion show at the same time?”

 

The girl giggled. “Yeah, sounds about right. I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks though – did they break up?”

 

Lucifer glanced at the detective at exactly the moment she looked at him. “We’ll let you know,” he murmured.

 

\--------------------

 

Back in the car they got a call from the lab. Lucifer picked up, since the detective was driving.

 

“Really?” he drawled in response to the voice on the other end, and Chloe glanced over at him. “Beth’s fingerprints were the only match.” He met the detective’s eyes. “Yes, of course it could be a coincidence – salad, as Detective Douche suggested. But maybe not.”

 

\-------------------

 

They made it to Beth’s office just before closing, catching her in her cubicle as she shut down her computer. She seemed surprised to see them, but smiled and asked them to wait two seconds while she finished packing up.

 

“We’d like it if you could come back with us to the station,” the detective said. “Just a few more questions.”

 

“You guys sure have a lot of those,” Beth said with a small laugh, but Lucifer thought he could detect an edge of unease. “Unfortunately, I can’t tonight – I have Spanish class.”

 

“Was that something you used to take with Amy?” Lucifer asked.

 

She looked confused. “No…”

 

“We hear you used to do a lot of things together,” he said, with a tone that made it clear exactly what kind of  _things_  he meant.

 

She played it cool. “Sure, I mean, we used to hang out and go running and stuff.”

 

“Yes, I remember,” the detective said. “And go to the gym, you did that too, right? The receptionist remembers seeing you together.”

 

Beth shrugged. “So?”

 

“So,” Lucifer said with a leer, “you mentioned that you thought Amy’s type was ‘hot and athletic,’ I believe.” He ran his eyes up and down her. “Fits you to a tee, m’dear.”

 

“You were seen doing a lot more than just hanging out,” Chloe added dryly. “Were you two dating?”

 

There was a short pause, during which they could practically see the girl’s fight or flight response being activated and then repressed.

 

“Not really,” Beth said. “We used to hook up, sometimes.”

 

“Mmm,” Lucifer hummed sceptically. “And yet she told Martin someone was giving her  _everything_ she needed. I’m willing to bet that was you.”

 

“The receptionist at the gym thought you’d broken up,” the detective said, watching Beth carefully. “Is that true?”

 

Beth’s hands twitched at her sides, fingers pinching at the side of her jacket. “Well, like I said, it’s not like we were really-“

 

“I was rather surprised,” Lucifer said, his mind going off on a tangent, “Because it really sounded like you were closer with her…” and he turned to her, gaze suddenly sharp, “ _sister_.”

 

Chloe, seeing Beth start guiltily, gamely switched to this trail of thought. “Her parents said you were very close, growing up.”

 

For a moment it seemed she wouldn’t answer, but then, “Yeah,” she said, and her voice was thick and choked. “We were… we….” She paused for a second, got her voice under control. “We were kind of all each other had, you know? My family was unbelievably fucked up – Luke was away, back then – and hers was… well, you’ve seen. Amy was the year above, and popular, and Haley was just this… really shy, sweet kid. We used to talk for hours,” she said with remembered fondness.

 

“You were lovers,” Lucifer said, eyes intent. She nodded.

 

“It sounds stupid, but I really thought that we were meant for each other, you know? But then when we all went to college…” She shrugged. “They still lived at home, and I moved away. We never saw each other. And it just… well, it fell apart. Not that anyone knew.”

 

“And then you rediscovered each other in the city,” Lucifer murmured.

 

“Yeah. I actually ran into Amy first, though of course I’d heard from my mum that they’d moved there. We literally ran into each other, and she was so happy to see me. We hung out a few times, and then one time I went over to theirs and saw Haley but it was… it was like we were strangers.”

 

“So, you went out with Amy,” the detective said neutrally.

 

Beth shrugged. “It wasn’t… I mean, it just happened. We went out for drinks, we went running together – she was lonely here, and kind of struggling with depression. And it was easy to just… so we did.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell us any of this before?” Chloe asked.

 

Beth shrugged. “It was private, you know. And I didn’t want their parents to know.”

 

That wasn’t everything, though, Lucifer could feel it. “It was Haley you cared about, when I asked you about your desires,” he said slowly. “Was there still something between the two of you?”

 

She hesitated, and the detective looked thoughtful. “Is that why you broke up with Amy?” she asked.

 

Beth’s eyes darted nervously between the two of them, and Lucifer felt a rush of  _yes, this was it_. “She can’t have taken that well,” he said.

 

Her laugh was brief and bitter, and tears glittered in the corner of her eyes.

 

“Why are they dead?” Lucifer said, voice like a steel trap closing inexorably shut. “Two of your lovers - bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

 

“It was… I…” She looked between them again, eyes catching on Lucifer and he held them with his own,  _willing_  her to be truthful.

 

“Amy… Oh God,  _Haley_.” And she dissolved into tears. “Amy found out – found out that I’d started seeing Haley again. That I, that I loved her. I was just there to drop something off, but then Haley said let’s go out, and she just went to grab her purse, and Amy… she just  _snapped_. Said that I was hers now, and Haley couldn’t just steal me back like… I didn’t realise what she was going to do – I didn’t know! But she was just, just acting crazy, and she grabbed the knife and I followed her, but I was too late, and Hayley! Oh God, oh God.”

 

Lucifer wrinkled his nose at the repeated invocation of his father but managed to refrain from commenting.

 

“Amy stabbed Haley?” the detective asked, and Beth nodded her snotty little face up and down.

 

“And I was so… I was so mad. I couldn’t believe that she would – to her own  _sister_! And she just walked out of there like nothing had happened, like she hadn’t just… So I took the knife, and I-“ She dissolved in tears again. Lucifer thought it was just as well that everyone else in the office had left; he would rather have left than have to deal with these waterworks too.

 

“Well,” he said bracingly. “There you go, then. Doesn’t it feel better now that you’ve confessed?”

 

It didn’t feel better to him, didn’t feel like a clear-cut case of a wicked person deserving punishment.

 

“I just wish they were still alive,” she moaned unhappily. “They would still be alive if it wasn’t for me!”

 

\------------------------

 

Murderer – well,  _one_  of their murderers; the other was a bit beyond the detective's reach – cuffed and taken back to the station, Lucifer brushed off the detective’s suggestion to… whatever, and found himself out on the balcony at Lux, watching the smoke from his cigarette curl off into the evening light.

 

“It’s a funny thing,” he said to the sky, quietly enough that his father would have had to be listening to hear him. “These children you’ve created. They’re so full of hope and passion and love. And darkness, and hatred, and cruelty. And mistakes. And you  _allow_  them to be. I’ve never understood why they are more deserving than we were. Why you wouldn’t allow us to change.” He sighed, flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. “What’s really hilarious is how many people say that the things that _I_ say and do are ‘only human.’ Sometimes I wonder if that would anger you - if it's just a bonus fuck you.

 

“I thought for so long that the reason you were really angry with me was because I was changing in ways that you didn’t plan, that you didn’t predict. And I can’t think that you ever planned for the way things are, because they’re so… they-“ He groped for words and didn’t find them. “But then, what? Your current actions are completely opportunistic? I can’t believe that either.”

 

There was silence for a while, as the sun dipped towards the horizon and orange and pink streaks dazzled their way across the reflections in the skyscrapers.

 

Finally, Lucifer stirred again, cigarette burned down to a stub in his motionless fingers. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About whether this would still have happened, if I’d stayed. I thought after Uriel, that was all of us. Your children. Your  _angels_. We stayed like that for such a long time.” He paused, tapped the cigarette butt against the railing and then threw it over. “One big batch, as it were. And I think that  _was_ your plan, wasn’t it?” he asked bemusedly. “So, what changed? Or is this really as simple as you replacing the son you discarded? Is this angel a new… me?”

 

Nothing answered him, and he sighed.

 

“You can come out now, Amenadiel.”

 

A sweep of wings, a brush of air, and his brother emerged from the shadows to stand beside him. Lucifer gave him a brief glance then returned to watching the city, and Amenadiel came to lean on the railings alongside him.  

 

“Do you talk to Father often?” Amenadiel asked.

 

“Mmm. It’s a very one-sided conversation. Usually involving a fair number of swear words.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer saw Amenadiel’s mouth twitch in a brief smile. “He’s never spoken of you directly,” Amenadiel said, and Lucifer’s hands tightened on the railings, the metal warping with a groan. “Not in all this time.”

 

“Always good to know you’ve been completely blotted from everyone’s memories,” Lucifer said harshly.

 

“That’s not true,” Amenadiel said immediately. “We may not have discussed you, Lucifer, but we did not forget. _I_ did not forget. I may not have understood, or agreed, but you never stopped being my brother.”

 

Lucifer snorted. “Fat lot of good that did me. And what’s the point of any of it, anyway?” His voice became weary. “What’s the point?” Amenadiel stirred, but didn’t answer. “Everyone’s so hung up on this  _plan_ , but why do I care that there’s a plan when it  _hurts_?”

 

“Lucifer-“

 

“No, really? Why would he make a plan which condemned me to hell for so long, which involves repeatedly smashing my face in everything I can’t have, which forces me to-“

 

“Because you can bear it,” Amenadiel interrupted forcefully, and Lucifer stilled. Amenadiel searched his brother’s face. “You know that he gives the hardest tasks to those he favours most, that-“ he carried on over Lucifer’s broken laughter “-he asks the most sacrifice from those he loves best.”

 

“Loves?” Lucifer’s voice cracked on the word, and his eyes stung with unshed tears. “Nothing that’s happened to me in the last however-many millennia has been because of  _love_ , brother. Pride, maybe, intolerance and jealousy over our affections, but-“

 

“This is our Father you’re talking about, Luci,” Amenadiel said with an air of reprimand.

 

“Oh yes,” Lucifer said with heavy irony. “Because of course he’s never been a harsh God, a jealous God, an  _angry_ God. How dare any of us have thoughts or feelings of our own? How dare we question him,  _ever?_ ”

 

“Luci-“

 

“Enough, brother,” Lucifer said, voice turning cold. “You remember his light, his warmth. Whereas I have an eternity of experience of his wrath.”

 

There was silence for a long moment, then a hand came to rest on his shoulder. “The anger might have been there, Lucifer, but the light and warmth never went away.”

 

Lucifer turned, almost blindly, ready to snap and rend with his words, but the pressure had lifted from his shoulder and his brother was  _gone_.

 

“Damn.” He brought a fist down on the railing and it buckled despite his temperance. “Damn,” he cursed again, this time at the twisted metal, and backed off a step. “I hope you’re happy, Dad,” he said, with a glance at the sky, and went back inside.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lucifer,” Dr Martin greeted him with not-quite-surprise as he arrived at her office the following afternoon. “I was just about to head off; I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Lucifer,” Dr Martin greeted him with not-quite-surprise as he arrived at her office the following afternoon. “I was just about to head off; I wasn’t expecting you.”

 

“And yet here I am,” he said, standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

 

He waited, and after a moment she gave in and waved a hand. “Come in.”

 

He sauntered into the room as though there had never been any doubt about the matter and sank down on the couch with the air of a picky feline, shifting as though to find the best spot.

 

“So,” Linda said, after half a minute of him examining first the room and then her in great detail.

 

“So,” he echoed.

 

“Do I take it this means you are continuing with our sessions?” she asked cautiously.

 

He crossed his legs, clasping his hands casually over his knee, and cast his gaze around her office again. “I suppose I’m willing to attempt a trial period.”

 

“A trial period,” she repeated, and had to look down to hide a smile. “You know,” she said, “it’s quite natural in this situation for you to try and take back control.”

 

“Is it?” he said in mock-fascination. “I hadn’t realised that this was a situation you encountered regularly, Linda; you have been hiding things from me! How many other devils you’ve turned away because you were convinced they were delusional do you have hiding in the wings, precisely?” His smile was slightly shark-like.

 

“I have to say you’re unique.”

 

He settled back in the couch, stretching his arms along the back. “ _Unique_. Well, you couldn’t be more right about that.”

 

She gave a small smile but stayed quiet, and after a few seconds he started to look slightly uncomfortable. “Well, say something!” he said eventually.

 

“What would you like me to say?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t pay you to just sit there though, do I?”

 

“Actually, the whole idea of therapy is for  _you_  to talk. So why don’t you tell me what you want to say?”

 

He shrugged, looking off to one side and drumming his fingers against the couch.

 

“Why don’t you tell me about the priest you mentioned last night?” she prompted after a moment.

 

He snorted. “Worried about the competition, are you?” She didn’t reply, and he shifted restlessly then leaned forward again. “He said I was angry with my Father.”

 

 “That can’t have been surprising.” She gave a small smile, and received a small huff of laughter in return.

 

“He said…” Lucifer was quiet for a moment. “He seemed to think that I was looking for my Father’s forgiveness. That I was waiting for a sign.”

 

“Are you?”

 

“No!” he said strongly. “But… Well, what if this is one? This whole-“ he idly flapped a hand “-stupid angel thing. What if it’s… What if it  _means_ something?” The words were hard to get out, and he met her eyes earnestly. “What if he’s skipped talking to me and just… Oh, I don’t know.” He sighed explosively.

 

_Work within the metaphor_ , she reminded herself.  _Within_ the metaphor.

 

“How would it make you feel if it was some kind of message?” she asked. He gave a dark laugh, and directed a brief glare at the ceiling. “Alright,” she said, on no further response. “Why do you think your father would do this instead of just talking to you?”

 

“Well, I don’t bloody know, do I?” he snapped, aggrieved. “Not that I ever know why he does anything. To make some kind of point? To get what he wants without lowering himself to speak with me?”

 

“I thought you said it meant he’d forgiven you?”

 

“Of course he hasn’t forgiven me,” Lucifer almost snarled. “If he was the kind of Father that would forgive, he wouldn’t have thrown me down into Hell in the first place!”

 

She trod cautiously. “It’s been a long time since then.”

 

“A very long time.”

 

“Is it possible that he’s changed? That he might regret the actions he’s taken? Or be willing to come to a new understanding? Estranged parents and children often reconnect, later in life.”

 

Lucifer wasn’t entirely listening. “Maybe it is a sign,” he said, almost to himself. “A way to get me to go back to Hell. I mean, this could be his way of saying that as long as I’m in a more temperate zone, as it were, he still has a way to make me serve him. A way of forcing a choice: ruler of Hell or angel factory.”

 

“That doesn’t seem like much of a choice,” she said neutrally.

 

He brought his knuckles up to rap against his chest. “How’s it even going to get out, that’s what I want to know? How’s it going to get to Heaven? Why do I have a horrible image from that movie about the aliens in my head?”

 

“Alien?” she said helpfully.

 

“Yes, the one with the aliens, that’s what I said.” He glared at her suspiciously.

 

“No, it’s called… never mind.”

 

“Maybe that’s what will kill me – this  _is_ a punishment!” he said in a tone of sudden revelation.

 

“Lucifer-“ she said, but he was already jumping to his feet.

 

“That’s what this is, isn’t it? Dare to escape from Hell? Pay the ultimate price.” He laughed. “This is Dad’s way of killing me off after Amenadiel’s failure.” Briefly diverted, he paused. “Oh, and poor Amenadiel thinks he has to protect me now. That’s rich. Little does he know I’m a walking time bomb. Of course, really he only wants to protect the new brat, he doesn’t really care about me, so-“

 

“Are you sure?” she asked, and he stopped, mid flow. “Your brother came to see me recently. He seemed concerned about you.”

 

Lucifer withdrew – not so much physically as with the sheer force of his personality. “Oh,” he said sarcastically. “Back on sharing terms with my brother, are we? Telling him all my dirty little secrets?”

 

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m just as angry with him over his deception as you are.”

 

“I very much doubt that,” he said silkily. “After all, it wasn’t you he was trying to kill at the time.”

 

_Within_ the metaphor. “You two seemed rather friendly when I saw you both together,” she said neutrally. He snorted.

 

“Well, of course - he needed me to help clear up his mess. And we were hardly  _friendly_ ,” he added, slightly defensive. “More… barely tolerating one another.”

 

“Why would it have been a bad thing if you were friendly?”

 

He sat back down on the couch with a thump. “Well, he’s still convinced Dad is the greatest thing in all creation, isn’t he?” He paused. “Okay, bad metaphor. He thinks that everything that’s happened to me – what’s happening now – is all proof that our Father loves me more than any of them – that he’s putting me through trials because he knows I can bear it.” His voice dripped with scorn.

 

“I take it you disagree?”

 

“Disagree?” he said incredulously. “If one of your humans came in saying that they’d thrown their child into, I don’t know, a shark infested river – right after telling it that it would never be able to stand on its own or have any right to an existence of its own – and then, on discovering it survived, allowed it to continue living only with the understanding that it stay in a miserable, fetid,  _hellish_ swamp with voracious alligators its whole life, and never deigned to speak to it again…” He seemed to have lost his train of thought for a moment, then refocused. “Would you believe it if someone said that they’d done it out of  _love_?”  

 

“Actually, those kind of trials are something found throughout the ages,” she said. “The warriors of Sparta, for example, or the Vikings. It is entirely possible that in some cases the parents believed that they were doing it out of love – to give their children the chance to prove their strength and become an accepted part of society.” He stared at her in disbelief and slight betrayal. “However, my opinion would be that such trials are usually rooted in selfishness.”

 

There was a glimmer of interest in his eyes, and he leaned forward. “Go on.”

 

“Well, at its essence, any trial of survival is about investment. It was essentially saying to the child or individual that they were worthless unless they could pass the test. Unless they were strong enough, they weren’t worth investing in. It could hypothetically be used as a measure, by the parents or society, to see which children were worthy of the effort and food to raise them and less likely to die later, rendering the investment useless.”

 

“Fascinating.” 

 

“In most of the Western world, we now take the opposite view, and protect – indeed, frequently  _over_ protect – our children, whatever their disabilities or problems. We’re actively working against ‘survival of the fittest.’”

 

“So you’re saying that Dad threw me down to Hell, leaving me to burn in agony for thousands of years and then become its ruler to see whether or not I was worthy of continued survival?”

 

She paused.

 

“Actually,” he murmured, “that makes a lot of sense. If I’d died, or given up, I wouldn’t have been worth the effort. Rebel against God, and get put through a trial to see if you’re worth leaving alive.” He was quiet for a moment as she struggled to think of what to say. “When does it end, that’s what I want to know?” he said a moment later. “When is the trial over?”

 

She hesitated, then slowly said, “In ancient societies, the person would prove themselves in some way. Slay a beast, or survive a specified period of time in the wild. Then they would be welcomed back, and there would be a great celebration.”

 

He appeared to consider this.

 

“Lucifer-“

 

“Perhaps this is the end of my trial? The final step, as it were. I’ve survived the hardship, and now I’m proving my  _usefulness_  to the tribe?” His face darkened as he spoke. “Well you know what,” he said harshly, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Fuck you, Dad. I never asked to be welcomed back, and if this is the trial it takes, I have  _no_  interest in passing.”

 

“Lucifer-“

 

“No,” he said strongly. “I don’t  _want_ to go back.”

 

She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “No one can force you to go anywhere you don’t want to,” she said.

 

He stared at her as though she was a particularly dim-witted child for a moment, then his gaze turned thoughtful.

 

“I wonder what Dad would do if he took me back and I did say no,” he said. “Now there’s something no-one’s ever dared to do before. Talk about giving Heaven the finger. I wonder what the punishment would be. After all, Dad’s never wrong, so if he wanted me back up there he’d have to make me stay. Take away my will, maybe?”

 

“No one can take away your will, Lucifer. You will always be able to make your own choices. Whatever hold your father has over you-”

 

“My Father is God, Doctor. The Big Guy. The Great Holy Turnip.”

 

A moment passed, then, “Right, yes, of course.”

 

He gave a dark little laugh. “And you were doing so well.”

 

She reached up to adjust her glasses. “There’s a difference between being willing to treat you as though your claim that you are the devil is real, and actually believing in all that-“ she paused and shrugged, “God and the devil stuff.”

 

“ _Stuff,_ ” he muttered disgustedly. “Not religious then, hmm? Well, I knew I liked you for a reason,” he added as an afterthought. “Though, really, how in denial can you people be?”

 

“Denial?” she asked with a slightly ironic smile.

 

“Well, it’s not like there isn’t plenty of evidence!” he said flippantly.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like, well,  _me_!” He puffed out his chest a little, and she smiled almost fondly.

  

“Did you know that hundreds of people every year claim to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ? Or Christ himself, transported through time?”

 

Lucifer’s face adequately expressed what he thought of that. “Ridiculous,” he said.

 

“But many of them truly believe it, Lucifer. They are absolutely convinced that they are who they say they are. And that other people should believe in them too.”

 

He was slow to catch her point. “Well, I’ve always known that some humans are… wait! Are you suggesting…” A look of great offence settled over his face. “Are you lumping me in the same category as Mr Joe Boring from Alabama who’s convinced he’s the second coming?”

 

She held up a placating hand. “I’m trying to explain to you why a person wouldn’t necessarily change their faith just because of who someone else claims to be.”

 

“You are, aren’t you?” he muttered to himself, still outraged and disgusted. “I mean, there’s delusional and then there’s-“ he flapped a hand “-crazy-town.”

 

She pressed her lips tightly together to hide a smile, and he eyed her suspiciously.

 

“Fine,” he said. “You don’t believe in God. Can’t blame you; he doesn’t add much to one’s life, and, believe me, doesn’t improve on further acquaintance.”

 

“Do you think you would like your father better if you were strangers?” she asked. An odd expression crossed his face.

 

“Strangers?” he said musingly. “That’s an interesting thought. Maybe that’s why all you humans are so keen to look up to him. Because, aside from dealing with the odd consequence – and don’t think I haven’t noticed there haven’t been any of those for a couple of thousand years, Dad – you don’t really know him at all, do you? None of you has any idea what he’s like.” He let out a long breath. “Easy to love an ideal, isn’t it? Or fear one,” he added in an undertone.

 

“But your relationship with your father is very real, isn’t it?” she pushed.

 

“I knew him better than anyone.” Lucifer sunk into thought, staring down at the coffee table. “Or thought I did. Doubtless just my  _arrogance_ ,” he sneered the word, “speaking. And I thought he knew me. But did he? Did he just not care, or did he never see me at all?”

 

She let the silence brew for a minute while he examined the palms of his intertwined hands. “Sometimes,” she began carefully, “it’s very easy to misunderstand those closest to us. We ascribe thoughts and feelings to them based on our shared history, but we can never truly know what they are actually thinking. It can be particularly challenging for parents and their children, if the parents still see them as a child.”

 

He let out a sigh, but seemed to be listening.

 

“The child might grow up but feel as though the parent is unwilling to give them responsibility, or isn’t understanding of the changes that they’ve gone though as they aged. Frequently, that acknowledgement might only come when the child forms a family of their own. Or,” and she wasn’t sure she should say this, “throughout history – and the animal kingdom as well – sometimes fathers will force their sons to leave because they view them as competition.”

 

“Competition,” he repeated softly, the word barely registering. Then his gaze sharpened on her as his mind turned the word over and examined it from all sides. “Competition for what, exactly?”

 

She hesitated. “Authority within the family,” she said. “The right to rule. Competition for women. Competition for attention.”

 

His face was a study of conflict, shaded by her half-closed blinds. He leaned back against couch, and steepled his fingers together.

 

“No,” he said eventually, and his voice was calm and sure. “No-one could take my Father’s place. Perhaps…” And here he paused and stared at the ceiling again. “Perhaps some of the others were starting to listen. And Dad certainly would have been annoyed at anyone listening when I said that things should change. Jealous that anyone might listen to me over him.” He paused again. “But they all chose him. They all sided with him.”

 

“You make it sound as if he might have felt threatened by your influence,” she said neutrally.

 

“Threatened.” A scowl crept over his face. “I’d like to think so, wouldn’t I. Flatter myself into believing I might have had any influence at all, that things could ever change. But they didn’t, and they won’t, and my Father was no more threatened by me than you are by the mice living behind your floorboards.” She frowned. “There are, you know,” he clarified. “I can hear them.”

 

“Mice?” she asked, in a tone half-questioning and half-fearful.

 

“Sweet little creatures, aren’t they?” he mused. “I don’t really know why – Linda?”

 

Linda was on her chair, fearfully scanning the corners of the room.

 

“Really?” Lucifer muttered to himself. “This is just ridiculous.”

 

\-------------------------

 

He called Maze to him when he arrived back at Lux.

 

“I need a contingency plan,” he announced as she materialised by his side in the crowded room. Subdued lights shone over the stream of people making their way on to the dance floor, and he leaned across to the chair she dropped into. “For the situation.”

 

“What situation?” she asked, sounding slight bored, and he widened his eyes at her in slight disbelief. “Oh, right.” She leant back, and crossed her arms across her chest. “Well, what do you want me to do? You said killing the human was out.”

 

“Yes, and it still is,” he said slightly testily. She shrugged.

 

“What do you need more for, then?” She eyed him. “Want me to cut it out of you?’

 

He shied back a few inches, and his hand came up to lie flat against his chest. “Cut it – no, Maze! It’s not like a tiny miniature parasite is physically inside me!” He waved a hand, nearly sloshing his drink over the side of his glass. “There’s nothing to cut.”

 

She looked at his chest. “Huh.”

 

“I meant…” He paused, and she cocked her head. “At some point this farce will reach its end point,” he continued after a moment. “And I rather fear the ending will be… unpleasant.”

 

“No shit.”

 

“And even should the event itself miraculously go well, there is the question of what will occur afterwards.” She frowned, clearly not comprehending. “Whether this state of affairs will recur,” he clarified impatiently, and saw her eyes widen.

 

“Another one?” she said, disgusted.

 

“I have no idea.” His tone turned annoyed. “But it isn’t something I’m willing to risk.”

 

She snorted. “So what are you going to do then?” Her eyes tracked across his face, and though reading him was never easy – he was too capricious for that – in this case the answer was more than clear. “Shit,” she breathed. “You’re actually going back to Hell.”

 

He shrugged, the motion almost pained. “Perhaps that’s just giving the old bastard what he wants. This will succeed where Amenadiel failed.”

 

“But you don’t think so,” she said quietly after a minute. The noise of the club had faded around them, as though they were trapped in their own little bubble of stillness.

 

“No,” he said, and tilted his head back, blinking his eyes to clear them. “No, I think there’s something else-“ he had to pause and clear his throat “-and I damn well don’t want to be a part of it.”

 

“Why not go back now, then?” she pressed. “Go back, and get rid of this thing.”

 

He turned his face away. “I’ve already told you,” he said, watching the dancers with a distant expression. “I won’t do that. I won’t take that chance.”

 

Her face twisted. “What chance?” she asked. “The chance that anything made in Hell would be more miserable than it would be up in la-la land? Which would you have preferred?”

 

He opened his mouth to snap out a quick answer and then suddenly found he didn’t have one.

 

_Not hell._

 

“Here,” he said eventually. “I prefer it here.”

 

\-----------------------

 

“Thought you’d gone on the lam again,” Chloe joked with a smile and a concerned look when he turned up at the police station the next day.

 

“What?” he said, barely paying attention. “Oh, no.” Then, after a moment, “but I might be leaving town.”

 

Her brows ticked down in the middle, furrowing her face. “Leaving?”

 

“Yes,” he said, then tried to inject a note of cheerfulness into his tone. “Might just be for a little while. Until things are… resolved.”

 

“Might be?”

 

He hesitated. “Well, there’s a possibility it might be for a quite a while.”

 

“How long a while?” Her voice rose a little, and he looked uncertain.

 

“Oh, possibly several of your human lifetimes.”

 

At the look she gave him, he amended, “I can’t be sure.”

 

“Lucifer, you can’t just-“

 

“I think you’ll find, Detective,” he said, his own voice rising to match hers, “that I can do whatever I please with absolutely no reference to anyone.”

 

She took him in, the wide stance, the arms crossed over his chest, the wild flash of his eyes. “Lucifer, what’s happened?” she asked more softly. “Are you in trouble?” He hesitated. “I can help,” she pressed, and he snorted in response.

 

“Alas,” he said. “This one’s a bit far outside your jurisdiction.”

 

“If you’d just talk to me!”

 

“It’s not like you bloody believe me when I do, is it?” he snapped. Seeing the look on her face, part irritation and part shock, just mounted his frustration higher. “What’s the point of talking to any of you, when you just-“ He reached out and slammed the flat of his hand his nearest wall, which buckled obligingly under the blow. After a long second’s silence, the notice board attached to the wall listed slowly sideways until it was only holding on by the top left corner, then fell to the floor of the corridor with a crash and a flurry of paper.

 

Lucifer refused to look at it, while Chloe gaped open mouthed. “Lucifer, what…”

 

“Shoddy construction,” he sneered. “That or I’m a millennia-old archangel suffering a freakish and uncontrollable power-surge. Let’s all guess which option you’ll go for, shall we?”

 

“Lucifer-“

 

“No,” he said strongly. “Enough. Just… enough. Trust me when I say that the way this has turned out is a lot more inconvenient for me than it is for you. And I’ve tried – I really have – but there has to be an end to this game and at this point I only see one way out.”

 

Her face, once she could bring herself to look away from the hand-shaped dent in the plaster, became steadily more alarmed. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Where are you going? Lucifer, you aren’t going to do anything-“

 

She cut off mid-sentence, blinking in astonishment.

 

“-rash,” she murmured to herself after a moment, staring at the empty space in front of her where Lucifer had been standing just a moment ago. She looked both ways down the corridor, blinked again to try and clear hazy sunspots from her vision, then shook her head and headed back to her desk.

 

\------------------------------

 

Lucifer wrenched his arm free of Amenadiel’s hold as soon as the world stopped blurring around him. Casting around, he found they were on the rooftops, the brilliant blue of the sky interrupted only by ventilation shafts and the thrust of even taller skyscrapers.

 

“Why bring us all the way up here?” Lucifer said, taunting. “Going to throw me off, brother?”

 

“Luci-“ Amenadiel started.

 

“No,” Lucifer said, irked. “I’m not at home to callers today, I’m afraid. Try again tomorrow. Make an appointment. File it with Maze. On second thought, bad idea-“

 

“Luci-“

 

“-Because Dad knows you two don’t seem to need encouragement to conspire behind my back, and maybe that’s all this is, really, a giant conspiracy, and we’re all just the little puppets in Father’s dollhouse, and-“

 

“ _Lucifer!_ ” Amenadiel shouted. 

 

Lucifer stopped, but his fingers still jerked restlessly by his sides. “No need to shout,” he said with an unkind smile. “Deprived of attention as a child, were you? I’m sure Linda would-“

 

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” asked Amenadiel, and Lucifer turned away to avoid seeing the look of disgusted pity on his face. Normally he’d snap right back, but he was feeling a little sensitive over what was wrong with him at the moment.

 

“Nothing,” he said instead, voice managing the surly petulance of a five year old. He took two steps until he was up against the very edge of the roof top, so that he could lean forward and fill his ears with the distant cacophony of traffic below.

 

A hand clamped around his upper arm like a band of steel, fingers pressing tightly into the fabric of his suit.

 

“Invulnerable,” Lucifer said in a sing-song voice.

 

“Not always,” Amenadiel said back.

 

“Well, this is hardly the way I’d choose to end it, baby brother. Smashing off a fifty story with only you as a witness. Although,” and here he leaned a little further forward, still not looking at Amenadiel, “there would be a certain poetic justice to the idea of my dying, given how hard you were trying to accomplish just that not so long ago.”

 

“Lucifer,” Amenadiel gritted out, and the pressure on Lucifer’s arm tightened to painful levels.

 

“Oh, relax, Petunia!” Lucifer said, voice turning sweet and syrupy, and he twisted and ducked under Amenadiel’s arm in a spilt-second, leaving his brother blinking in surprise as he walked back across the roof. “I’d never give you the satisfaction. Or Father,” he added darkly.

 

“Lucifer-“

 

“Well, this has been lovely. But really, places to go, people to see and all that. So if you’ll excuse me…”

 

This time Amenadiel just stood there, not saying anything. He continued to not say anything as Lucifer turned in a circle and came to the very obvious realisation that there was no roof access to the building. Lucifer turned and glared at him.

 

“Really, brother? How petty of you.”

 

Then, in a moment so fast that no normal eye could have followed it, he pulled back his fist and squatted, punching the roof in a blow which made it crumble, caving inwards beneath his fist. He stood slightly to the side and surveyed the damage, Amenadiel coming to stand beside him.

 

“You could just ask,” said Amenadiel.

 

“You? Since when has your help ever come without a price attached?” He raised his fist in the air again.

 

“Your glow is getting brighter.”

 

Lucifer halted. “What?”

 

Amenadiel nodded at him. “The aura around you. It is more… tangible.”

 

Lucifer’s heart thudded fearfully in his chest. “Well, what does that mean?”

 

“I don’t know.” His brother surveyed him calmly. “What happened last time?”

 

Lucifer’s hand loosened from its fist and he flapped his hand

 

“It was a very long time ago!” he said. “I don’t know – it just… happened.” When Amenadiel continued to eye him sceptically he added, “You know how things work there – how time moves.”

 

Things were, and then they weren’t. Or vice-versa. Really, Lucifer had only the barest memories of the appearance of the other angels. It had just…  _been_.

 

Amenadiel’s thoughts were obviously running along the same tracks, because he nodded. Folding his somewhat imposing arms across his chest, he tilted his head. “What happens next?” he asked Lucifer.

 

“I’d suggest a picnic…” Lucifer waved at their surroundings, then nudged the edge of the broken roof with his shoe.

 

“What happens now with this.” Amenadiel gestured at him, irritatingly unflustered.

 

Lucifer sighed, suddenly tired. “I’ll let you know when I find out,” he said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d been hiding in bed for the last day.

There was a strange, constant humming in Lucifer’s blood, and the centre of his chest ached so fiercely it was almost like it was burning. He couldn’t touch anything – _anything_ – without it caving under his fingers as though he had punched it with holy wrath. The last stranger he’d spoken to, a taxi driver, had launched himself out of his cab and started stripping in the middle of the street (at which point it became rather obvious that he was, hmm, _roused_ by Lucifer’s presence), and, in Lucifer’s irritation at the situation, the taxi itself had risen three meters off the ground and slammed into the nearest traffic light.

 

This was end of days stuff.

 

He’d been hiding in bed for the last day. Under the covers, in fact – might as well go the whole hog. It seemed the only sensible response, really, when he couldn’t trust himself to touch anything, talk to anyone, or look at anything the wrong way. Sulking under the covers was beneath him, of course, but it wasn’t as though anyone had ever had better reason for it. He wasn’t even bored – his mind entirely occupied dwelling at great length on every single thing that had happened since the start of this mess, and how bloody unfair it all was. Why him? Why had his Father done this to him?

 

“Bollocks to Him,” he muttered fiercely, giving the centre of his ribcage a swift thump with his fist, the sheets rustling around him.

 

What was he supposed to do now? That was the question it all came circling back to. He just wanted this done with, wanted this bloody thing gone so that he could go back to his normal life, back to hell, back to anything that wasn’t this miserable, cursed existence.

 

There was an uncertain tap on his door.

 

“Lucifer?”

 

He groaned pathetically and didn’t move.

 

There was a slight rustling sound from the doorway, but he refused to lift the covers back to look, even as he felt Chloe’s presence fill the room. Light still penetrated the fabric, of course, and so a shadow fell over his small, enclosed world as the detective came to stand beside his bed.

 

“Lucifer – are you sick?”

 

He groaned again, this time in minor irritation. “Yes,” he said. “Go away.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

 

It was annoying she was there, yes, but somewhere in his heart there was a relieved burst of feeling that _someone_ had noticed when he’d disappeared. He absolutely hadn’t been sulking over the fact that he’d been left completely alone in his room for a day – _absolutely_ hadn’t – but couldn’t deny the tiny, brief thought of _ha, someone does care_ before he squashed it down again.

 

“Go away,” he repeated, this time more wretchedly, and heard her sigh before the side of the bed dipped under her weight.

 

“Do you have the flu?” she asked. “It’s been going around. I could get you some-”

 

“I don’t have the flu,” he said, except that it came out as a snarl. “I don’t have a virus, or worms, or any of your other pedestrian illnesses. Leave me alone.”

 

There was a moment’s silence.

 

“Worms?” she asked. There was a lightness and slight tension to her tone which implied she was restraining herself from laughing. He twitched under the covers, uncurling himself a little.

 

“Yes. They live inside people. Or doctors put them on people as some kind of torture – I’ve never been quite sure about that. Lots of people in Hell have nightmares about worms.”

 

“I’m sure they do.” Slightly long suffering along with the amusement now.

 

He gave a little huff and turned his head, the covers sliding against him as he resettled on his side facing towards her outline. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Checking on you,” she said, still sounding determinedly cheerful. “When you didn’t show up yesterday, especially after you disappeared the day before… Well, I just thought you might not be feeling well.”

 

“I don’t get sick.” And yes, no hiding the grumpiness there. He sighed. “But I don’t feel well.”

 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

 

He stared at the patches of light and darkness on the underside of the covers, wondering again if he could just stay under there forever. Safer for all concerned, really.

 

“Lucifer?” Slim fingers carefully brushed over the covers, settling over the side of his head and gently moving back and forth.

 

He blinked back inexplicable moisture from his eyes.

 

“Everything hurts,” he said after a moment. “Everything’s wrong.”

 

The fingers stopped their soft movement for a moment, then resumed. “What hurts?”

 

“Everything,” he repeated. Then, “My chest.”

 

“Your chest hurts?” She sounded like she was coaxing an animal, but fuck if it wasn’t working.

 

“Yes,” he managed, and then his breathing became a bit uneven as he had an _emotion_. “I don’t, I...” He swallowed down whatever had been about to come out, then gave a harsh laugh. “Fuck.”

 

“It’s alright, Lucifer.” The fingers kept moving, and oh, that was nice. Being touched by someone who didn’t want anything from him, who was just his friend. He made another small rasping noise, and felt utterly pathetic. “What else hurts?”

 

What else did hurt? He absent-mindedly catalogued himself, sweeping his focus down through his body. “My blood,” he said after a moment. “Not hurts, exactly, but it’s all wrong.”

 

“Your… blood hurts?”

 

“Mmm. And my chest.” It really did, now. _Really_. “My chest hurts.”

 

“Yes,” and she sounded slightly scared, now. His Chloe shouldn’t sound scared. “You’ve said that. Lucifer, I think we should get you to the hospital.”

 

“No hospitals,” he slurred. Then, “My chest hurts.”

 

“Lucifer, I’m going to – just let me...”

 

He whined as the comforting hand was withdrawn, then the covers were pulled back and there was a sudden influx of light. He wished he’d thought to close the curtains before retreating to his bed. Normally he quite liked light – went with the name and all – but right now…

 

“Lucifer? Lucifer, can you hear me? God, I’m calling an ambulance-”

 

His hand shot out, lightning fast, to clamp around her wrist. He let go an instant later, horrified, looking over in expectation of seeing her fragile limb crushed, but she was miraculously unharmed, intact and blinking at him in surprise.

 

“No,” he managed, and hell, it was strangely difficult to force the word past his lips. Almost like he was having trouble breathing, except of course that he didn’t really need to breathe. The pain was worse now, so much worse, as though his chest was rupturing and the angel inside him was trying to blaze its way out. “No. No, no, no, no, no.”

 

“Lucifer? Lucifer? Come on, Lucifer, please.”

 

Smooth, cool hands flitted across his chest, and oh, that was nice, that almost made the pain go away, and then he distantly heard, “Yes, it’s an emergency, I need an ambulance at...”

 

He phased out, for a moment, not knowing light from dark, and then came to at the feel of Chloe brushing sweat soaked hair away from his face. For a moment he looked up at her and he could have sworn _she_ was the angel, so bright she seemed, and then the moment was broken when the door slammed against the wall and Maze flashed across the room with a roar to throw Chloe aside.

 

“Stay away from him,” she snarled, and Lucifer’s muzzy attempt to tell her to stop got lost in his throat. “This is _your_ fault!”

 

“Maze, he needs a doctor, he’s sick.”

 

“ _You_ made him sick,” Mazikeen said, words dripping poison. “You’re the reason he’s like this.”

 

“What are you-”

 

“If it weren’t for you we’d be back in Hell and he wouldn’t be-”

 

“ _Enough_ ,” he managed, and though it was quiet he imbued his voice with thunder. Then, more wearily, “Enough.”

 

“Lucifer-”

 

“No, Maze, no. Whatever happens...” He grimaced. “It’s just the way-”

 

There was a rush of wind, and suddenly Amenadiel stood in the center of the room, grave and forbidding. Chloe blinked, looked at the door, decided she was going crazy and that there was no way-

 

“Oh Father, what are _you_ doing here?”

 

“I sensed it was time.”

 

“Time for what?” asked Chloe, and yes, okay, she was a little freaked out, and more than a little angry, because neither of these people seemed to have their priorities straight which should have been _getting Lucifer to a hospital_.

 

Dark eyes turned to her, and she shuddered inwardly. “You should not be here,” the tall man announced, quiet but implacable, and she felt herself bristle.

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Lucifer gasped. Everyone turned towards him. “No, really, fuck off, all of you, and let me die in peace.”

 

Chloe’s “You aren’t going to die” was drowned out by Maze’s “Stop being a drama queen,” and then Amenadiel took a step forward and said again, “It is time.”

 

“It is?” Lucifer thought his voice sounded choked, wrong, as though he wasn’t – as though he didn’t...

 

“Yes.”

 

And that shouldn’t have been comforting. It shouldn’t have been comforting for his holier-than-thou little brother to be here making pronouncements like that.

 

“How do you know?” he managed.

 

“I can feel it,” Amenadiel said. “Anyone with any sensitivity on the planet can feel it.” Which was mildly alarming. “I am here to guard you.”

 

“Lucifer.” Chloe’s voice was scared again – she shouldn’t be scared, he repeated to himself, he didn’t want her to be scared. “Lucifer, you’re… glowing.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

 

“Oh,” he said, breathing it out on an exhale. He saw curls of shining particles move with his breath. “Am I?”

 

“Lucifer!”

 

“It doesn’t hurt any more,” he murmured. “It doesn’t...”

 

“Lucif-”

 

The world disappeared, gone in an instant. His vision faded, and there was a distant ringing sound that sounded familiar but that he couldn't quite place.

 

“Please,” he mumbled, though he didn’t know what he was asking or whom he was asking it of. “Please.”

 

Light returned, vibrant, blinding even behind closed eyelids. His whole self _thrummed_ with it, as though it was part of him, as though it was seeping into him and stretching him and _resonating_ somehow. Yes, resonating, that was the right word.

 

“ _Pleas_ e,” he whispered again, and God, he’d never felt this lost, felt this out of himself, not since the first days, not since he _became_.

 

“ _I can’t-_ ” he said, but he didn’t know what he couldn’t, and subsided with half a sob.

 

He was weightless, formless, until he wasn’t, and he opened his eyes and there the Silver City was. There his brothers were. There his _father_ was. And there… something. Something new.

 

Lucifer was… _perfect_ , in that moment. It was the way of this place, that no being could ever be less than their absolute whole. He stood, incandescent, wings resplendent, and only the glowing coal of fear and anger inside him kept him from kneeling beside his brothers.

 

He stood, and his Father stood. And between them – between them was a young angel with dark curly hair; it was difficult to look upon him, as he was also a small mote of light and a shining being - all one and the same in that moment and then resolving as though no change had occurred, as though no creation had just taken place.

 

“I am Izbael,” the young man said, and Lucifer’s brothers sang softly in worship.

 

“ _Welcome, Izbael_ ,” said their father, and Lucifer had to close his eyes for a moment at the sound of his voice. It had been so long. It was awe, and comfort, and rightness, and he hadn’t realised how much the absence of it had been a gaping cavern within him until it was filled again.

 

A strange calm overtook him.

 

“Welcome, Izbael,” murmured the rest of them.

 

“And Samael,” his father said, turning towards him slowly. “We welcome you also, you who have done us great service.”

 

“Great service,” the rest of them echoed. Lucifer’s eyes picked out a few bowed heads. Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel. Michael, even kneeling, towered above his brothers.

 

“Service,” Lucifer murmured as well, the word causing a bitter tang in his chest. The feeling seemed… muffled, somehow. An inappropriate feeling to have in a place as beautiful as this. His gaze flicked lazily back to his father, and then, for some reason, Linda’s image flashed in his mind. “I didn’t want to do this service,” he said. Not insolent, just factual.

 

His Father smiled beneficently. “Alas, my child, we are frequently asked to do that which tests us.”

 

“You didn’t ask,” Lucifer said, tongue apparently acting on it’s own orders.

 

His Father’s gaze bored into him for a long moment, and the weight of it almost forced him to bow.

 

“You volunteered for this task.”

 

Lucifer opened his mouth to deny it, then shut it again, words unsaid. _Chloe’s life_. A stupid thing to risk it now, after all that had been gone through.

 

Still.

 

“If you wanted me back in Hell so badly, _Dad_ , you could have just said so.”

 

“Because you’re so good at listening to messages.” Lucifer turned his head to see Amenadiel step forth from behind him, incline his head and then fall to one knee. Clearly his brother was back in Heaven’s good graces, then.

 

“Only you could carry out this task,” his father said. “And it could not have been achieved from within the confines of that place.”

 

Whatever bitter words flickered through his mind didn’t make it to the forefront. He wanted to ask if he could have gotten rid of it that way. If that was the way to avoid it, next time. But his eyes rested on the small, calm presence of his new brother, of _Izbael_ , who had done nothing to him to deserve his ill wishes. Lucifer almost _had_ gone back to hell. He’d almost given in, and…

 

“Would it have harmed him?” he asked finally.

 

His father looked at him and _knew_ him. “No, my son. But he could not have developed further in a place of such darkness.” There was a long moment of silence. Then, “The essence was always hope. Hope, and joy.”

 

Lucifer’s throat closed off again, as he thought of the days so long ago and how bright he had felt, how every moment was new and precious and _joyful_.

 

“You have not felt that way in a very long time,” his father said, and well, that was bloody lovely, wasn’t it?

 

Lucifer’s hands closed into mute fists, struggling as the rage finally built and built and _burst_. “Because you sent me to _Hell!_ ” His wings flared brilliantly behind him, arching to full height.

 

His Father watched him serenely, his brothers were hushed in absolute silence. “You have followed your path,” God said.

 

“My _path!_ I’m confused – is there free will for us, or isn’t there? Because if everything is predestined then this is something you’ve done _to_ me, and therefore wasn’t my fault at all. Why did you do this to me? Why cast me down for something you yourself caused?”

 

His father shook his head sadly. “Why ask me questions you already know the answers to?”

 

“I don’t know the answers!” Lucifer exploded. “If I knew the bloody answers, I wouldn’t ask the bloody questions, would I?” Then, in a quick afterthought, “Sorry,” to the newest angel, whose tender ears had never witnessed swearing before. Unless he’d been able to hear things while he was with Lucifer. Which… oh my Dad, had his little brother been there while he was having sex?

 

“Forgive me,” Izbael said, interrupting Lucifer’s thoughts,“but might I ask what is occurring?”

 

Everyone turned to face him. Lucifer threw his hands up in the air and muttered to himself for a moment.

 

“My son.” There was a moment in which their father just looked upon his latest child, and Lucifer could practically see his satisfaction in this new being he had wrought. “Your brother and I are having a discussion.”

 

“It sounded like an argument,” Izbael said innocently, and Lucifer snorted. Out of the mouths of babes.

 

“It concerns the nature of existence,” their father said, clearly feeling that put an end to the matter.

 

Izbael frowned, and Lucifer echoed him. “I wouldn’t really care what it concerned, as long as it didn’t concern me!” Lucifer said in retort. “You’ve already exiled me, now why can’t you just leave me alone?”

 

His father took a step closer. “You were given a task to carry out.”

 

“Torturing souls, yes, blah blah blah. But really, they do that all themselves. It’s a very boring job after a while, really, if still _deeply mentally scarring_.”

 

“That was not the task you were set.”

 

“Then what-” Lucifer cried, before forcing himself to stop and gulp a quick breath. “Why send me down to Hell with no word and no contact? What did you want from me?”

 

His father smiled suddenly, unexpectedly. “Apparently it does not matter that you have not understood my purpose, because you have nonetheless been fulfilling it admirably. You are,” and then his father took two more steps closer, so close that Lucifer could have reached out and touched him, close enough that the quiet power of him almost burned, “my light.”

 

“Father-”

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

He blinked, light and dark and _light,_ and found himself staring up at the ceiling in his room, Amenadiel and Mazikeen and Chloe all clustered and hovering above his bed.

 

“Oh Dad, I’m going to need so much therapy.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue

Lucifer finally had the room to himself.

 

It had taken a great deal of fast taking, vastly hindered by Amenadiel’s occasional mystical pronouncements such as ‘now he has been delivered, and all shall be well,’ to prevent Chloe from calling for emergency services again. Apparently Maze had routed the first ambulance people to show up. While Lucifer was, you know, ~~dead~~ unconscious. Which had also been a factor in Chloe’s reaction. Really, Lucifer thought, they might have been better off knocking _her_ unconscious too, so that she could assume the whole thing had been a really bad dream.

 

“It was just sudden internal anguish,” he’d said desperately. “Brought on by family stupidity. Like a gallstone.” She’d stared at him like he was mad. “It’s a religious thing,” he’d added helpfully.

 

Maze… he didn’t know where he stood with Maze at the moment. She said that she would have punched him if she hadn’t thought he was dead in a permanent fashion. That she would punch him tomorrow instead. Lucifer had passed on the favour when Amenadiel had tried to open his big fluffy angelic mouth, saying that he would beat his brother black and blue if he said _anything_ right then.

 

So here he was, alone. Maze had hustled the detective out of the room with her – poor Chloe had looked red eyed and rather dazed, unfortunately, and finally Lucifer had the silence he craved. To think, only hours ago he’d been feeling lonely, and now he wished he never had to see another being in all of creation.

 

He’d just _made_ another being in creation. Or, well, not made, himself, but, as Amenadiel had put it, _delivered_.

 

Izbael.

 

Maybe the angel wouldn’t turn out to be quite so much of a dick as his brothers. Not that Lucifer would ever know, he was unlikely to see him again. Except…

 

 _Except_.

 

The things his father had said, the way he’d… It had almost sounded as though Lucifer wasn’t exiled, any more. As though he was _pleased_ with Lucifer, and not just over this angel business.

 

“Why haven’t you talked to me?” Lucifer asked of the empty room.

 

Nobody answered.

 

\-------------------------

 

The next day, all of the conversations he’d put off came back to bite him in the ass. Or, in Maze’s case, in the face.

 

“Ow,” he said, pulling back with a wounded noise. “What was that fo- actually, never mind.”

 

“You’re damned right, never mind,” she said, all fierce dignity. “I’ve just about had enough, Lucifer. Ever since we came up here, everything’s been wrong. Maybe it was fun for a while, but now it’s enough. This was _enough_.”

 

“Maze-”

 

“You think I didn’t figure it out? That your little mortal was the one who tipped you over the edge? You would have just marinated that thing inside you until judgement day if _she_ hadn’t turned up and let you die -”

 

He blinked, and the surprise must have shown on his face because Maze stopped.

 

“Oh,” he said. Of course - he’d died again to go back to the Silver City, for the angel to come, um, _out_ , as it were. And he couldn’t have died unless he was mortal. And Chloe was the only one who had that particular effect on him. “Even as your plans go, Dad, that’s a bit convoluted,” he muttered.

 

Mazikeen made a small, wordless noise of frustration.

 

“Well don’t look at me,” Lucifer said. “I was bloody glad to have it out of me, so I’m not complaining.”

 

“Of course you wouldn’t complain.” Her voice dropped low, honey-sweet. “You’re so wrapped around her precious pinky finger that-”

 

“Why do you care?” Maze stopped, staring at him. “I’m not going back,” he continued. “You must know that by now. I’m not going back there. If you want to, if you miss it, then I hereby release you. Again. Of _all_ your commitments.”

 

Her face was a study in conflict, brow furrowed, lips tight. “I can’t do that,” she said, automatically.

 

“Yes, yes you can. I’d be vastly happier knowing that there was someone deadly and competent handling things down there.”

 

She sneered. “As though you would have left if it wasn’t well taken care of.” To which he nodded, because, well, true.

 

“ _More_ deadly and competent,” he amended, and her lips twitched slightly.

 

“I can’t leave you,” she said again, as if by rote, and he rolled his eyes.

 

“No, really, you can – especially if you’re going to keep punching me all the time.” She raised a fist again, half-menacing, and he laughed. “I’d miss you,” he admitted in a sudden burst of sincerity. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go.”

 

She looked him up and down for a moment, her dark eyes guarded. Then, “Pfft, you wouldn’t last a day by yourself – the last year proves that. I can’t leave you to fend for yourself, you’re like a baby chick.” He opened his mouth to defend himself. “With the survival instincts of a rodent.” She paused, frowned. “One that throws itself off buildings. Or cliffs. I don’t know, I heard that’s a thing here.” Another pause. “Guess I’ll have to stay and find out.”

 

His stomach did a rather unfortunate swoop and felt a little wobbly. He cleared his throat. “Well, alright then.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Okay.”

 

He hesitated.

 

“You’re such an idiot,” she said, and tossed her hair over her shoulder as she left.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

The detective was a little more… difficult. It was a weekend, so he drove to her house.

 

Knocked on the door.

 

So far, so good.

 

The door cracked open, and this time it didn’t take as long for his eyes to drop down and find the small mop of hair atop the head of Beatrice.

 

“Ah,” he said.

 

“Mummy came home crying yesterday,” she said. Not quite accusative.

 

“Oh?” he said, slightly uncertain.

 

She nodded. “She said she was worried about you.”

 

“Did she?”

 

She nodded again. “Mummy worries about me all the time. And she used to worry about Daddy, but she doesn’t really any more.” Warm glow of spite about _that_ , Detective Douche. “But I’ve never seen her cry about anyone else.”

 

“Ah, well...”

 

Luckily, Lucifer didn’t seem to be expected to carry on his side of the conversation. “So you should really try not to worry her any more,” the child finished, just as the door was pulled open wider and Chloe appeared behind her to scoop her up.

 

“Trixie,” Chloe scolded half-heartedly, but her eyes were running desperately over Lucifer as though checking he was still there.

 

“Detective.”

 

She looked worn out, he rather thought. She was wearing baggy pants and a top that yawned it’s way over one shoulder and had a few threadbare holes in the sleeves, but no, it wasn’t that which made him think so. She just looked weary, somehow, as though someone had taken some stuffing out and she was struggling to compensate for the loss.

 

“Lucifer.”

 

All of a sudden he found himself with nothing to say.

 

“I – well, I, ah… Might I come in?”

 

She appeared to consider him for a moment, then widened the door a little in wordless invitation before turning and walking away, child still balanced on her hip. Beatrice seemed very happy on her perch, reaching up to cup her hands around her mother’s ear and whisper something.

 

He closed the door behind him and followed.

 

“Coffee,” she asked once he’d reached the kitchen.

 

“No. Oh, wait, human social conventions – yes, please.”

 

She didn’t even bother giving him the _I-think-you’re-slightly-mad_ look. A minute later, a hot mug was thrust in his direction. He took it, and then he floundered.

 

“Look, I just wanted to apologise about yesterday,” he started. “I know things got a little… unusual, and I’m sorry for making you worry.”

 

She snorted, staring down into the coffee in her mug. The vessel read: It got mugged. He puzzled over this for a moment until she took a sip, turning it, and the other side revealed: Why did the coffee file a police report?

 

“That’s a terrible joke,” he said, although he actually wasn’t sure if it was or not. He didn’t always understand jokes. She looked down after a moment, following his gaze, and her lips gave a sad little twitch.

  
“It was one of Dan’s.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Lucifer.” She sighed. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yes. I can one hundred percent guarantee that I am in perfect health. Absolutely fine, promise.”

 

“Because you-” her eyes flicked to Beatrice, now sitting on the counter top swinging her legs happily “-have been very, um, up and down lately. And sometimes, very not fine.”

 

“I know. I do know that, Chloe, and I’m, well, I’m really sorry that you had to be there for any of it, though, actually, quite glad that you were.” She frowned. “I just mean I, well, it was nice to have someone to… even if everything is fine, it was just… nice.”

 

She seemed to untangle this admirably, and the crease in her brow eased a little. “I’m always happy to be here, Lucifer, but you – is it always going to be like this? Because, to be honest, I could live without the drama.” She gave another quick glance towards her offspring. “We kind of have enough of that in our lives already.”

 

His chest ached a little, and for a second he brought his hand up against it as though the angel was still there. But it wasn’t. This was just a… thing.

 

He cleared his throat. “I never meant for any of this to happen,” he said quietly.

 

She sighed. “I know, Lucifer. You never do. But trouble seems to follow you around. It makes it hard to be your friend.” It sounded as though the words were hard to say. Lucifer was viciously glad about that, because after all he’d just been through, for _her_ to say she didn’t want to be his friend any more…

 

“I see,” he said stiffly. “Well, I’m not sure that I could ever guarantee a reduction in drama. And, may I just say, Detective, that you have brought a more than reasonable amount of drama into _my_ life, and not once have I ever complained about it. Well. Not much.” He considered. “And mostly not to your face.”

 

Her face did something complicated, but then her eyes creased up as though she was going to laugh. “You complain about my drama behind my back?” she asked.

 

He looked upwards. “Dad give me strength.”

 

“I-” She reached out and laid her small hand on his sleeve. It was warm from the coffee mug, he idly noted. “You’re right, of course you’re right. We never know what’s going to happen to us. And I would never want you to feel like you couldn’t confide in me. I guess in the end,” she said, speaking almost to herself, “we either decide the other person is worth it to us, or they aren’t.” Her eyes refocused on him, and he swallowed not-at-all-nervously. “And you are, Lucifer. We’re lucky to have you as a friend.” Beatrice looked up at that moment, smiling brilliantly. “And I’m glad that, whatever the problem was, it’s been… resolved?”

 

He nodded.

 

“I was...” She turned away for a minute. “Trixie, honey, do you know where your report for school is? Maybe Lucifer would like to see it?”

 

Lucifer was about to protest vociferously that he could quite do without the honour, thank you very much, when the small child hopped down and disappeared into her room. He took a second to marvel again at the detective’s talent for deception.

 

“Lucifer, I thought you – God, I can’t believe I’m saying this again – I thought you died!” she hissed.

 

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was really rather hoping that she would have been pacified after the admittedly somewhat stumbling deflections of the previous day. On the other hand, he suddenly thought, telling the detective the truth had never actually been a problem before.

 

“I did,” he said. “My Father wanted to speak to me, so I had to cross over briefly. Very inconvenient, really, you’d think he’d have invested in the heavenly equivalent of a telephone in the intervening millennia.”

 

Her brows quirked together in irritation. “What was wrong with you?”

 

“I told you I-”

 

“No, Lucifer. I mean you were – you were sick, really sick. And then there was… and your brother just… And you were...” She paused for a second to regroup, then, “It was really weird, Lucifer.”

 

“I know,” he said. “Unfortunately, weird is a perfectly normal phenomenon around me. Comes with being the Devil, you know?”

 

“But sick isn’t a normal thing for you, you said so,” she said quietly.

 

He drew in a slow breath. “No. But I really do promise that I’m fine now. Good as a devil can be.”

 

He saw the moment when she decided let it go for the moment, when she rolled her eyes and reached to shove him lightly in the chest. “Fine, don’t tell me,” she said. “You scared the crap outta me, and this after weeks of thinking there’s something really wrong with you, and now you’re _fine?_ ” Her voice slightly incredulous on the last.

 

“Detective. Chloe.” He reached out and gently grasped her hand. “I would not promise you if it wasn’t true.”

 

She weighed the truth of it, of how much she wanted to believe him versus whatever her little rational mind was telling her. It must be so confusing to be human, he thought.

 

She sighed. “Lucifer,” she said, and he couldn’t let her finish.

 

“Trust me,” he said.

 

And she did.

 

\-----------------------------

 

Linda was… weird. Unlike the other key players in this little drama, she had absolutely no idea what had happened to him the previous day, not even the confusing version of events that Detective Dekker had.

 

“Lucifer,” she said, smiling at him when he arrived at her door in time for their scheduled session that afternoon. He wasn’t sure he would have gone to see her yet if they hadn’t already made the appointment; he felt odd, as though he didn’t quite fit in his own skin at the moment. “How have things been since I last saw you?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, well, eventful.”

 

He sat in his usual place on the couch, and found that the routine of it helped a little. This was something he’d been doing for quite a while now, before, during and after the angel. This was constant, Linda’s little abandonment notwithstanding.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He stared at the ceiling, and after a moment Linda tried to move things along. “Last time we spoke you were feeling quite agitated.”

 

“Yes,” he said, then roused himself. “Well, that all got dealt with. Bit of a surprise, really.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She hesitated, shifting in her chair and crossing her legs. “You seem to be feeling a little uncommunicative today.”

 

“Do I?” Lucifer shrugged, slightly listless. “Well, I’m not sure why I’m here really. Problem’s all gone.”

 

“How is it gone?”

 

“Well, it just kind of… _poof_.” He made a little ‘surprise’ gesture with his hands.

 

“Poof?”

 

“I know. Painless, at least.”

 

“I don’t – Lucifer, I don’t really know what you’re talking about. Could you give a little more detail?”

 

He looked down, shrugged again. “I’m not sure what the point is.” His voice slightly surly this time.

 

“Well, if you’ll forgive the observation, you don’t actually seem that okay for someone who’s saying all their problems have been solved.”

 

“What, not jumping for joy?” Finally he sighed, and slumped back against the couch. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not what I was expecting; I don’t really know what to do with it all. Just carry on as if nothing ever happened? Just as in the dark as before?”

 

“With your father, you mean?”

 

“Yes, with my Father, who else? I mean, you can’t just say those kind of things after so long and then boot someone back out and then _still not talk to them_ , can you?”

 

“So you’re angry?”

 

“Of course I’m angry!”

 

“What did your father say?”

 

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” He drummed his fingers on the couch. “I don’t really know. It’s all so incredibly vague and _you’re following your path and fulfilling my purpose, son_ , and I don’t know what any of it means!”

 

She took a moment to try and untangle that. “He was trying to get you to do something for him?”

 

“No,” Lucifer said. “He was...” He glanced off to the side, fingers coming up to rub along the side of his face. “He said that everything I’ve been doing, even abandoning Hell to come up here, was exactly what he wanted me to do all along.”

 

“How do you feel about that?”

 

“Well, a bit bloody impotent. Rebel twice over and then get told: well done, that was what you were supposed to do all along. He had the nerve to sound _pleased_ with me.”

 

“And was he?”

 

“Well, _I_ don’t know!” Lucifer said, voice high with frustration. “The whole conversation was only three sentences. I’d say give him credit for being succinct, but there’s a lot of information not covered there!”

 

“What else did he say?”

 

“What?”

 

“You said three sentences. So what else did he say?”

 

“That may have been hyperbole.” Lucifer pressed his lips together. “I don’t know, some stuff about service and tasks and he-” He stopped and took a slightly uneven breath, “He called me his _light_.”

 

“His light?” She waited a moment, but Lucifer didn’t continue, looking lost. “That seems to make you feel something very deeply.” She watched him closely, and saw him swallow hard. “Lucifer? Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now?”

 

“I don’t… I...”

 

She waited him out, cataloguing all of the minute tics which betrayed his uneasiness and the depth of his emotions. She’d rarely seen him like this, this raw. After a minute, he licked his lips and took a deep breath.

 

“It’s been a long time. Since he called me that. I’d like to say I’d forgotten, but-” his voice cracked slightly, and he stopped.

 

“You realised that you still cared what he thought of you,” she said quietly.

 

He shook his head, but said, “Perhaps. I shouldn’t, not after all these years, not after the way he...”

 

“It can be hard to forgive someone after so long.”

 

“I don’t need his forgiveness!” Lucifer thundered, and for a moment he was truly frightening, and Linda’s stomach shrank in on itself in primal fear. Just for a moment, then his face lost it’s anger.

 

Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal, and she attempted a stilted smile.

 

“I meant you, Lucifer,” she said as calmly as she was able. “I meant whether you would be able to forgive _him_.”

 

Lucifer’s face twisted, almost anguished. “Forgive _h_ _im_?” he said hoarsely. The silence stretched for a moment, and she could see him fighting with himself. “I supposed that’s something we all have to try and do, isn’t it, if he truly sets all the paths, and is responsible for everyone’s pain.”

 

“He’s hurt you a great deal.”

 

Lucifer twitched uncomfortably, but then, after a moment, “Yes.”

 

“Are you planning to see him again?”

 

“Am I planning to.. Oh, Doctor,” and here he rasped a laugh. “The last time wasn’t exactly voluntary, you know.” She hesitated, but he could see she wanted to ask. “I don’t know if you’d call it kidnapping – more sudden death, really. The detective was most upset.”

 

“You… died?”

 

There was a clear struggle to believe him going on. He supposed he appreciated the effort.

 

“Mmm. Probably only for a few seconds. Time moves differently there. Still, it took a lot of convincing to get the detective to back down over the ambulance.”

 

The belief clicked. “You actually died. What did your father _do_?” There she went, getting all outraged on his behalf. Which was actually rather sweet.

 

“Well, it was a rather complicated series of events, really, although my father engineered the whole thing. Still, it meant the angel issue was resolved, and it’s not as though the death thing sticks.”

 

She blinked.

 

“Although I have felt a bit… off, since. Still, maybe I’m just readjusting.”

 

“Lucifer-”

 

“I have a new baby brother now. Izbael.” He paused, pondering the name. “He seems just as stuffy as the rest of them – it’s innate, of course. Still, he gave Dad a bit of lip, so he can’t be all bad.”

 

“Lucifer-”

 

“And then of course there was Amenadiel, with his _I-must-protect-you_ and _you-never-listen_ , and really, he’s just immensely irritating, isn’t he?”

 

“ _Lucifer!_ ”

 

“What?”

 

“I… Are you _alright?_ ”

 

He stared at her in some surprise. “Alright?”

 

“Yes.” She took a moment to regroup. “You’ve just told me that you were killed by your father. That he hurt you to the point where Chloe thought you needed to be in the hospital. So, are you alright?”

 

“Yes.” He looked at her for another moment, as if checking if she was planning on doing anything else particularly bizarre. “Honestly, you and the detective, both so worried. I’m fine now, I really am. It was…” his voice slowed, “quite painful at the time, actually. I was… afraid.” He was quiet for a moment, and Linda practically held her breath to keep herself from interrupting. “And I was ashamed to have others there to witness my fear. Even though the detective was quite… soothing. And,” he said, suddenly building up steam, “before that of course there was the risk to everyone around me, property damage – my _car_ – and general mayhem, stripping in the streets and so forth. I mean, he’s been messing up my life for months with this.”

 

“It’s alright to be angry with your father.”

 

“I know that.” A brief expression of humour ghosted across his face. “I don’t think anger’s the emotion I’ve been repressing here, Linda, pay attention.”

 

“You’ve always been angry with your father, Lucifer, but I think you’re still looking for validation that it’s alright for you to feel that.” He gave her a stubborn look. “In almost every session, for example, you say ‘surely I have a right to be angry’ or ‘since he’s done this to me of course I’m angry’ - it’s like you keep asking, again and again, whether you have enough cause for your anger, and whether you’re allowed to be.”

 

He took a quick breath, and she waited for him to lash out, but he subsided and thought about it instead. _Progress_.

 

“Your feelings are always valid,” she said carefully. “They’re _your_ feelings. Why is it so important to you that someone tell you that they’re justified?”

 

“Because-” Lucifer stopped, and his face did something complicated before settling on resignation. “Because my father is who he is. Lots of you people get angry with him, but is it ever justified? After all, he has a _plan_. One presumably leading to the best possible outcome for all. What _right_ have I to oppose it, what right to resent his treatment of me?”

 

And oh, _oh_ , this was suddenly going so much deeper than she thought he would open up.

 

“These sound like questions you’ve been thinking about for a long time,” she said carefully.

 

He laughed, but the sound was a little choked. “Millennia,” he said. “Even before I did it, even when I started to question him I wondered… well.”

 

“It must have taken a lot of courage, then,” she said. He raised his head to look at her in question. “Sometimes the most important questions to ask are also the hardest. And,” she continued, when she saw he seemed receptive, “there’s rarely harm in asking. The other person can always choose not to answer.”

 

He chuckled grimly. “Well, dear Dad certainly choose that option.”

 

There were a few seconds silence. “The behaviour you’re describing sounds very contradictory with what you describe he said when you saw him – he didn’t sound angry or blame you.”

 

“No.”

 

“But he hurt you again.”

 

Lucifer frowned, but waved a hand. “You know, I genuinely don’t know if he understands such things. I mean, he understands pain as a concept for punishment, mainly for humans, but he’s never experienced it, not _really_. Second hand experiences don’t count. He probably thinks of it as a… minor inconvenience. Which, to be fair, is true in this case.”

 

“I suppose,” she said, and really as a therapist she ought not to say this, “I’m not really sure how your relationship with your father can move forward from here.” Because it certainly seemed like the man just kept hurting Lucifer over and over, and she was worried any continuing relationship would just cause further setbacks. But the longing in Lucifer’s voice and the depth of emotion when he talked about receiving his father’s seeming approval were also very important. If there was any chance that they could be brought to have a healthy relationship, it would potentially go a long way towards fixing the fracturing of personality that Lucifer seemed to experience.

 

“Neither am I,” Lucifer replied wearily, and they sat in silence together for a few minutes as the world ticked by outside.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

 

“I know that I irritate you,” Amenadiel said, later that same evening. Lucifer glanced to the side, where his brother was suddenly sitting beside him in the crowded bar.

 

“Mmm.”

 

“Did I always?”

 

Lucifer glanced at him, surprised to find him serious. He suppressed the instinctive, flippant remark and made himself take a long sip of his drink before he spoke. “No.”

 

Angels remembered every instant of their existence, but only when they tried to, as otherwise one’s memories became rather noisy. Lucifer would know – one of the worst things about that first spell of time in Hell was how all of his memories had crashed in on him, all together and endless and tormenting, twisting and becoming bitter. Sometimes it made him doubt the veracity of his own recollections, unable to tell if they had become warped.

 

“You became more rigid, over time,” he said after a moment. “Exactly as I was trying to stretch. Perhaps in response, even. So unwilling to listen, or to think for yourself.”

 

“You mean to think like you.”

 

Lucifer shrugged, unwilling to be drawn. “I used to tell you stories. You used to ask questions.” Amenadiel’s face grew pensive as he cast his mind back. “But when _I_ had questions, when I wanted to discuss things, you became uptight. Perhaps you were uncomfortable with the idea of growing up. Because really,” Lucifer said, “that’s the difference between us. I have, and you haven’t, not after all these Millennia. Still clinging to Dad’s apron strings.”

 

Amenadiel scowled.

 

“What _are_ apron strings?” Lucifer asked, briefly diverted.

 

“You keep acting like none of the rest of us ever had a thought of our own,” Amenadiel said.

 

“Well, yes.” Lucifer eyed him curiously. “Have you?”

 

“How would you know?” And now there was bitterness in Amenadiel’s voice. “Did you ever listen to _us?_ Do you even know any of us any more? Or are you too busy making assumptions and lashing out like a spoiled child?”

 

“ _Spoiled-?_ ”

 

“You say you weren’t the favourite but you were. You _are_. No, Father didn’t mention you directly but your absence is felt like a gaping wound - that we all step around because it _hurts_ to think about. But we knew you were doing important work, that you were still beloved and precious - _always_ so loved. And yes, I grew angry that so much energy and devotion got sent your way when you weren’t even there!” Amenadiel turned his face away, breathing harshly. “I wanted you to suffer, when He sent me here for you. I wanted you to feel a little of what I felt.”

 

“Well,” Lucifer said, voice arctic. “Now you’ve completely convinced me of your maturity. I genuinely don’t know how to persuade you of this, since you seem completely impervious to explanation, but I have already suffered. Hell and damnation is not just a phrase, brother, but do feel free to try it sometime if you feel like you need the full experience.”

 

He turned away, feeling tired at a bone-deep level, only for a strong hand to clasp his shoulder. “Lucifer!”

 

He stopped.

 

“I did not come here to argue with you. I… apologise. I was trying to explain. Badly, it seems. But that wasn’t why I came.”

 

“Well, why did you?” Lucifer didn’t turn around.

 

“I...” Amenadiel took a deep breath. “I was asked to convey the greetings of Izbael, since he is not yet ready to leave himself. And...”

 

There was a long moment’s silence, and Lucifer felt everything go still as the world phased out of time around them. The words that followed dropped softly as feathers into the silence, and left a ringing in Lucifer’s ears. He gasped, completely disarmed, but his brother was gone almost before Lucifer could be sure he had heard them right.

 

“ _I am to tell you that your wings will be there, when you are ready for them.”_

 

\--------------------------------

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for bearing with me over the long posting gap, and apologies for the fact that I've probably been vastly inconsistent with capitalization with regards to God throughout!


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